The Knight with Dented Armor
by Lady NeverAfterNon
Summary: Hermione thought fairy tales were stupid, but she read them anyway. Who wouldn't? And then she found herself living in one. Hopefully she'll live long enough to get the happy ending... AU H/Hr
1. Of Beginnings

**Author's Note:** Here is yet another revision. Fair warning: you will probably recognize Greek mythology, Celtic mythology, lotsa mythology. So yea, I borrowed stuff. Title has been changed, as well as a few other things. Feedback would be much appreciated!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing

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**The Knight with Dented Armor**

**By:** _Lady NeverAfterNon_

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It was on days like this, smelly and back breaking days complete with threats of losing dinner, that she wondered how she ever got into this mess.

It wasn't like she was a trouble maker who went looking for these sorts of situations. No she'd been a good kid. How had she possibly been stuck into this misbegotten wannabe fairy tale in the first place? She could remember a time in her life not so far ago when she could practically taste University in her future. Now she mainly concerned herself with whether or not she'd eat. It was like she'd been sucked into one of her thick books on unfortunate damsels in dire situations and no one had thought to tell her.

Fairy tale or not, she was stuck.

Hermione Granger often likened herself to Cinderella, only without the handsome prince. While a handsome prince probably wouldn't have solved things exactly, it would have given her a happy ending. Happy endings didn't seem to be in her future no matter how hard she wished for the. That was complete bollocks as far as she was concerned. In the normal fairy tales fair damsels always had their wishes come true. Always, and usually in the form of some devastatingly handsome man, which which brought her back to the heretofore missing prince. For now she was still stuck in a vicious cyclone of suspicious fairy tale redundancies. She had the filthy clothes to wear, the dirty soot stained bed next to the fireplace to sleep in, the slightly psychotic relatives...everything but the damn prince.

And why couldn't she have a prince? Every fairy tale had princes! It didn't even have to be a prince, maybe a duke or something. Hell, she'd even take the baker boy.

The baker boy was certainly rather cute in a odd sort of lopsided bean poll way, but Ron Weasely unfortunately only had eyes for that Petunia girl.

Honestly, Petunia Dursley had a neck like a weasel and a face like a horse. The pairing was to be expected though. Petunia put out and while she didn't have much in the way of brains, she certainly knew how to hold a boy's attention. Hermione didn't see herself as horribly bad looking but she knew she had impossible hair, and her penchant for reading books that were bigger than her head was generally considered unattractive by boys her age.

She acknowledged the fact, she just didn't have to like it.

To put a long story short and plainly, life sucked.

This was especially driven home when her uncle made her scrub the potato cellar or wash his dirty socks. It made her cringe just thinking about it. It was on days when she could count absolutely nothing good that had happened to her within twenty four hours that that she rued the day she ever set eyes on the backwater village of Nozamot.

_Well_, she amended, _it wasn't like the village itself was all that horrible_.

It was stuck in the lower foothills of the Northern Mountains, and while it wasn't a huge town, it did have its high points. The houses were small and stuck close together but it was a good deal cleaner than the city she'd grown up in. The mountain was deliciously cool in the summer with miles and miles of shrub flowers and stunted trees. In the winter, while it wasn't warm, it was astonishingly beautiful. The sun shone on the show like thousands and thousands of diamonds and Hermione knew that if she could patent a spell to imitate the effect of sun on snow she would be a wealthy witch indeed.

No, it wasn't Nozamot itself that was the source of the problems, it was her barmy relatives.

Before coming to live in Nozamot, Hermione had lived with her parents far to the south in a prosperous little city on the coast. Both her parents had been dentists, so they were quite well off.

Hermione had enjoyed the best teachers and tutors her city had to offer and she'd continually astonished them with her brilliance. She knew it too. She'd practically counted the days and months and years until she could go to University, and she kept a careful list of potential schools on her desk. She had had anything she could ever want, as well as freedom to roam the immense city library when ever she pleased. Indeed she'd almost lived there, but the librarians had drawn the line when she had asked to set a sleeping bag up in the stacks.

At any rate her parents had often had to show up after hours to prod their daughter into coming home to sleep and eat.

The little city was quite prosperous, and an excellent place for a little girl to grow up.

The wharf side market was by far the pride of the entire city. The city was built on the edge of a giant natural harbor, which allowed ships to make a safe port. So, naturally, all walks of life inhabited the city. Merchants and traders brought their goods from all around to barter and to sell. The market was always alive with color and life and she never tired of skipping out after her homework was completed to wander around the bazaars with her mouth open in awe. Even now, stuck in Nozamot, she still had dreams of the many times she'd tried to stow away on a ship, craving some new adventure. Her parents had always come and hauled her off, but she'd still never forgotten the sense of possible adventure.

Well she certainly had more than a taste of adventure now, and it wasn't at all what it was cracked up to be.

Every Friday, when work and lessons were over, she and her parents would enjoy dinner at the wharf, and then go down the seashore to wade, have water fights, and look for shells. It was an excellent place to grow up. She had parents who loved her, a comfortable house, books by the millions, and excellent dental care.

Hermione lived a blissful, happy existence until the summer of her eighth birthday. That particular summer had been unexpectedly dry, one of the driest on record, and it only took a few series of random moments of misfortune and accidents to start the worst fires in the entire history of the city.

Three quarters of the city was burned to the ground. The citizens did their best to save their neighbors, friends, and family, but many died. The bodies were measured in the thousands, and days and days after the embers had died, one could still hear the screaming. Hermione's parents were among the many that lost their lives on that sad October morning. Even the little girl herself had not escaped unscathed.

Part of the burning wall of their home had caved in, and had pinned her beneath it.

She had managed miraculously to pull herself from certain death, and to stumble outside, but the burns on her back developed into thick ugly scars that resembled a spider's web. Surviving that fire, it was then she discovered she was a witch. She remembered the horrible burning, and the terror and pain- and then everything was quiet. She was standing alone in the blaze but the fire was tame and did not hurt her. It danced around her like a puppy, urging her to play. She'd laughed, held out her hands and clapped happily.

The fire had done as she bid and moved around her in brilliant orange streamers, guiding her this way and that through the house. She remembered with perfect clarity the exhilaration at the power running through her veins.

And then she saw the burned bodies of her parents.

Over the next few years that followed, she was shunted from orphanage to orphanage. No orphanage director wanted to directly cast her out onto the street, on account of her late parent's great respect in the city because of their successful dentist practice. But no one wanted to keep her either.

'_She was an odd one, that Hermione Granger. Somphin' off bout' er' an' we always knew it'_

The whispers followed her where ever she went.

Her scars frightened the other children, as well as the mysterious rumor of her survival, and in order to hide their fear they would torment her mercilessly. They would dance behind her and pull her hair, calling her a witch and other worse, more creative things. They would desecrate the few books she'd been about to salvage from her own home, leaving her to mend them as best she could. She lived as a shadow of her previous self - hiding her burn scars and trying to keep herself alive.

She continued this miserable existence until she was ten.

Then, two years after the fire and the death of her parents, her father's half brother arrived from far to the north in order to take her in. In the beginning her orphanages had written to him continuously as she'd had no other living relatives. After six months of no reply to the numerous letters they'd had to give up.

So it was quite a shock when out of the blue a tall weedy looking man in his late forties drove up in a shabby old carriage demanding to see his young niece. Hermione had never seen her uncle, but she was ready and willing enough to go with him.

After two solid years of either being treated like dirt or like a plague victim, it was a relief to again have someone that wanted to properly care for her.

So she readily agreed to go off with him, and once the papers were all signed she left without a second thought. He didn't talk much on the long journey, only to say that his estate was quite a long way to the North, and that it would take them almost a month to reach it. Hermione thought nothing of this, and contented herself with reading in order to pass the time on the trip.

Only when they reached the drab and miserable little village of Nozamot did she begin to think something amiss. When the carriage stopped in front of a rundown mismatched cottage, and a scruffy young woman with a pudgy and angry face that looked like a potato came out to meet them, did her spirits plummet completely.

Her uncle informed her with a self satisfied smirk and no little amount of malicious glee that he really was indeed her uncle, and it had seemed fine luck that her orphanage had sent it's letter when it did.

"Cause you see my dear, that my poor wife and I are getting on in years, and we really do need someone to look after things as we've retired," he'd said laughing at her and showing off every single one of his shiny brass plated teeth.

She certainly hadn't said anything at the time, though her uncle had discovered the remains of a mouse in his baked potato that night.

Look after things had been the polite term for slave labor. In order to 'earn her keep' Hermione was forced to do chores from dawn until dusk, and to cater to her aunt and uncle's every whim.

Often she was forced to retire to her potato cellar without any supper, cliche as it sounded. Over time her hands lost their softness, and the slim fingers that used to carefully turn the pages of her beloved tomes with reverence now struggled to get past the first few chapters if she even had time or light to read.

She developed muscle though, which before in the city would have been alien too her. It was the only weapon she had against her relatives. Her aunt knew that if she was too awful, that her niece would just flat plain refuse to do absolutely anything. Still, it was a pretty miserable way to live.

Then came the fateful market day, the next turning point in the young witch's life. Hermione used to wonder whether markets were evil omens for her. Bad things seemed to happen to her where markets were concerned. First, the fire in the market in her old city, then...Yolande. She still hadn't figured out whether Yolande was good or bad, but at least she stood up to Hermione's relatives.

When she was thirteen Hermione bumped into the cranky old woman in the market and that was when things started to look up.

Yolande recognized the untapped witchling power buried in the young girl's soul and took Hermione under her wing. After her aunt and uncle would go to sleep, she'd sneak off to Yolande's snug cottage that smelled cats and old people, and Yolande would teach her the art of herbs, how to cook (and to subtly poison her aunt and uncle if necessary), medicines, and a few white magic spells.

Hermione discovered that magic was like air to her, and she didn't know how she'd ever existed without it.

Her first mastered spell had been a small flame spell, and she used it to set her uncle's trousers on fire. She'd been given a week in the cellar for that but it had been worth it.

It was the influence of Yolande, the cruel stupidity of her aunt and uncle, and the simple indifference of the villagers that Hermione developed her cynical attitude towards life. Life in Nozamot taught her quite plainly that people were cruel and horrible, and true love was a cold lie that little girls were taught in order to make them go to sleep at night. She privately reflected later, that if she'd not met Yolande, she probably would have gone insane and murdered everyone.

On top of the magic lessons and the cooking and the occasional fencing lesson, Hermione quickly formed a friendship with the grouchy, crass old lady, and it was first spot of happiness in her sad little existence. Yolanda wasn't the best role model, but the old lady kept her alive and kept her sane in a rather psychotic world.

Hermione's life continued to be uneventful and boringly predictable, that is, until the dead started shadowing the village.

It would be little things at first; forest animals would show up half eaten and dogs started to go missing, but it became very real when little Colin Creevy, the basket weaver's apprentice stumbled into the middle of Town Square and proceeded to try to eat the people setting up for the days market.

That's when life really got interesting.

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.x.

_To be continued..._


	2. Of Meetings

**Author's Note/ Disclaimer**_**:**__I changed a few things around and borrowed a few things more.._

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**Chapter 2**

Of Meetings

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Of course, the superstitious villagers almost always blamed a vampire, a witch, a goblin, a zombie, or whatever when something began to go wrong that they had no logical explanation for. So Colin Creevy's attempting to make dinner out of the brains his fellow villagers was naturally considered to be the work of the devil.

Hermione didn't believe a jot of it.

The boy had been foaming at the mouth and his pupils were dilated, or at least they were until Jiffy Jergenbaum had caved Creevy's skull in with his heavy carpentry hammer. Hermione had seen Creevy's face: his irises were merely black discs in a sea of white. He was also foaming at the mouth. She was a practical witch. She refused to think supernatural workings until she had exhausted all scientific possibilities. At the current practical age of nineteen, Hermione considered herself a logical adult. So she refused to believe the whispers until she either staked it, drenched it, holy watered it, or beheaded it herself. Or dissected it and tested the bits.

This opinion had not failed her yet. So when her aunt woke her up out of a sound sleep and sent her out at twelve o'clock at night for bath water she was disgruntled but not afraid.

Hermione made her way to the well for the twelfth time, grumbling obscenities under her breath. The tiny water bucket leaked, and it took forever to fill their cottage's main water tank. Her hands were freezing, and the bucket kept banging into her legs. For some bizarre reason, nights in Nozamot were extremely creepy. The trees were all old and gnarled, the animals' eyes glinted menacingly in the dark, and the wind was always whistling through the trees. It never just blew, it howled like a Benedictine Choir.

Hermione didn't like to admit her fear, but who wouldn't be afraid of the high mountain woods after dark?

She grimaced as she heaved the old wooden cover off of the well and not for the first time wished for indoor plumbing. It seemed a very long time before the bucket hit the water with a slap, and then slowly filled. Now for her favorite part of this happy day; the slow strenuous business of winding the rope back up, its burden heavy with water and the rope all slippery and wet. At least there was a pot of gold at the end of this particular rainbow. Hermione decided quite firmly that absolutely nothing tasted better than cold mountain water on a warm night. She drank almost a quarter of the bucket before realizing that she probably needed at least some to bring back to her aunt; that was why she was romping around in the dark after all.

Hermione lugged the heavy bucket out of the well and set it with a thump on the ground. She was careful not to spill, as her aunt would throw a fit if she was able to detect any water gone. She glanced at the ground, half hoping to find a bug she could drop into the pail of water. Her aunt probably would have fainted, and then Hermione would have to go to the potato cellar, but it'd be worth it. It was the little rebellions that kept her sane.

Alas, no bug. The ground remained surprisingly clear of weird creepy crawlies. Oh well.

Hermione heaved the rope over her shoulder, carefully steadied the bucket, and began to stumble back to her aunt and uncle's. She had gone approximately three steps from the well when something stopped her short. It was the silence.

Every animal and insect in the clearing around her was silent- like they weren't even there. The only sound was the wind through the trees and her own heart thumping in her chest. She frowned and set down her bucket. The birds and animals always made their night noises. It was just something they did. In the seven years she'd lived in Nozamot, there had always been animal noises at night. Something was very wrong.

Hermione stood still, waiting. She didn't have to wait long.

.x.

Not long after, a shadow disentangled itself from the trees.

It was a man, dressed in torn ragged shirt and trousers. He walked with a distinct limping lurch, and once it got closer Hermione saw that his skin was gray and covered in wounds. She covered her mouth and gagged. The stench alone was enough to send anyone with half a brain running. Hermione had a strong suspicion that once the shambling creature got a hold of her she'd hardly have any brains left.

Hermione had never actually seen a zombie, she'd only read about them in Yolande's magic books. Supposedly they were really, really hard to create. But here, right on the outskirts of Nozamot, was one headed straight at her. The rumors were true after all. Well, at least it hadn't seen her yet, maybe she could inch away...

No such luck, the zombie spotted her. With a hair raising howl, it raised its rotting arms and stumbled towards her.

Hermione thought quickly. She hadn't got past healing and the bare basics in the defensive and offensive spell category, and she could not conjure from thin air. She had to have a medium to work with. She looked around in a slightly panicked manner. Already, answering howls were coming from the trees around her and she knew it would not be long before the one zombie would not be all she had to deal with.

One zombie was fine. A whole pack? That would be trouble.

Hermione looked wildly about her person and cursed the fact that she hadn't stuck her wand into her pockets when she left the cottage

A haphazard idea formed in her head. Yolande had been trying to get her to master wandless magic for a while, and she found transfiguring objects into other things relatively easy. So far, all Hermione had been able to do was turn a door mouse into a china mouse patterned teacup but it had stayed a teacup. Hermione hoped that her panic and the need to safe her own life would help turn the tide. There was no other way, in any case.

Quickly, she grabbed up a short stick from the ground and pulled a steel screw loose from the rotten wood of the well. She glanced up; the zombie was mere yards away.

Hermione closed her eyes, and willed the pieces in her hands to take the shape in her mind's eye.

In the space of three seconds, or two zombie steps, Hermione had a perfectly formed naginata in her hands.

For a split second she looked at it, half expecting to turn back into a stick and a metal screw. The naginata stayed a naginata however. She twirled it and watched the oncoming zombie hoard. There were no less than thirty. She was not a master, though she did feel better with the weapon in her hand. Her skill with weapons was moderate, Yolande had been attempting to teach her but with not a lot of luck. Luckily zombies were slow and not particularly known for having brains. Perhaps that was why they so desperately sought other peoples'.

Hermione swung her naginata, and the scythe blade at one end cleanly walloped off the head of one zombie while the small spear like point on the other end jabbed back and decapitated another. She grinned. Not as hard as she'd thought.

Still they came; she swung her weapon.

.x.

Fifteen decapitated zombies later, and twenty dismembered, Hermione was getting tired. She was contemplating climbing a tree, because heading back to the village was out of the question; the zombies would only follow her back.

Hermione didn't particularly mind if her aunt and uncle got eaten, but there was Yolande and the other innocent villagers to consider.

She had stood debating too long.

A rotted hand tangled itself in her frizzy flyaway hair and yanked her flat on her back. She struggled violently, but they were all around her. She screamed in desperation and rage. Well, they weren't going to get an easy meal out of her that was for sure.

She was just about to bite one in desperation, heedless of the fact that it would mean her death, when the many hands holding her were suddenly gone. She sat up rubbing the back of her head and looked around her in confusion. The zombies had been thrown away from her, violently.

And they hadn't been thrown away whole either; body parts rained against the surrounding trees with thick wet slapping noises.

Hermione got warily to her feet and then slipped on the muddy ground, landing hard on her bum. She held her nose in her dirty hand and looked about for her rescuer, hoping he hadn't seen her ungraceful landing.

He hadn't.

He was standing a few feet away from her, casually squeezing the head of the last moving zombie in his hand until it burst. Hermione gagged, and at her retching sound he turned towards her, casually flicking the congealing red muck from his fingers.

Her unlikely hero was tall, about six feet with long shaggy black hair that he wore in a pony tail. The black robes he sported were not in good condition and looked as though they hadn't been washed in a long time. His heavy boots were caked in mud and zombie goo, but those stark apple green eyes made up for the ragamuffin appearance, as well as the dog-like canines in his grimacing mouth.

He dropped to one knee before her and leaned forward, peering at her nearsightedly. "Are you hurt miss?"

The vampire, for that was undoubtedly what he was, had impeccable manners and it stumped Hermione as to why he was bothering to check her health at all when eating people was what they supposedly did best. It also struck her as absurdly that the vamp appeared to have terrible eyesight.

So instead of answering him, she stared stupidly at him wondering what the hell he was doing saving her quite heroically from a hoard of dead people instead of joining them in the human buffet.

"Miss?" He frowned, and getting no response tapped two fingers lightly against her cheek.

That got her attention. Pulling herself from her reverie she slapped his hand away and snapped, "Hands on your own deck buster."

He coughed politely and ducked his head in an apologetic manner. "Forgive me, Miss. I thought you were in shock."

Hermione was still in a grouchy mood for having been whacked in the face and was still wanting to cause unhappiness in return.

"That's not what you do for shock victims' buddy but I'll forgive you since you saved me and all," she muttered.

He ducked his head again, a smile tugging at his rather thin mouth. For the second time that night, she noticed his long canine teeth. They were awfully sharp looking, and very white. She wondered how fast she could get away if worse came to worse and he actually did decide to eat her. His wide cheerful smile disappeared quickly when he figured out the objects of her attention.

"Are you a Nosferatu?" Hermione asked casually, twirling her naginata casually in her hands. She'd already figured out what he was, but she was attempting to stall him just in case she had to maim him and make a speedy getaway.

Distracted vampires hopefully were easier to kill.

He sighed and his shoulders slumped and he nodded. "I am what the peasants call a vampire, yes."

She stared at him, rather taken aback by his bluntness and willingness to reveal what he was. What an odd vampire; not at all what she'd been expecting. First he saved her and then he bothered to introduce himself. Odd.

"Well, since you're a vamp I have absolutely no idea why you saved me, but thanks all the same."

That little half smile was back on his face as he watched her. "You were not half so bad yourself, Miss. You hardly needed me."

Hermione winced. She must have looked like a complete idiot when confronting the zombies compared to the casual buzz-saw method of the vampire.

She did not get a chance to reply, however, because a loud over dramatized feminine shriek caused her to turn, and she was just in time to see her aunt flee back to the village. Hermione rubbed her aching ear. She hadn't thought that her aunt had a girly bone in her body. That shriek however perfectly conveyed that her aunt was a damsel, an unattractive damsel certainly, but still a damsel in distress.

.x.

"Oh bother," she said, looking over her shoulder, "She's run back to tell the others, and then they'll chase after you with torches and pitchforks, and then they'll be wanting to stake you."

He half rose then sunk back down on his haunches. "I cannot leave you miss, they will most likely… give you a hard time for being seen with me."

"Yeah well, at least I won't be dead. Go on, shoo." She shoved at his shoulder but she might have been pushing at a tree. He didn't move an inch.

"You might very well be, Miss. I've seen what they do in other places to women suspected of consorting with the undead. I will stay and make sure you do not come to harm."

Hermione blinked, and suddenly felt cold.

She'd been to other villages in the area, with peasants just as superstitious as the ones living in Nozamot. She'd seen the decapitated corpses of unfortunate ladies hanging from trees, and the charred remains of the ones who had not quite managed to burn all the way at the stake.

That was one of the drawbacks to living in Nozamot. Blatant sorcery was absolutely not tolerated and she had to hide the fact that she was a witch very carefully. It had never occurred to her that she'd have to worry about anything else. She shivered. She didn't want to be burned at the stake, or hung, or dumped in a lake.

"Well," she said stiffly, "Since you put it that way, I'm glad for the company."

He bowed politely for the third time. They sat there quietly for a moment, her calmly sitting on the ground that had been turned to mud from the wet gooey zombie blood, and him squatting awkwardly next to her. Hermione cursed the fact that though he was covered in blood, and smelled atrocious; he still managed to look perfectly graceful crouched there next to her.

She had to break the silence.

"My name's Hermione Granger," She offered, not looking at him.

He chuckled. "Harry Potter."

Hermione snorted. "That's an unusual name for a vampire."

His eyebrows rose in mock annoyance. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. Were you expecting something along the lines of Blud Von Gut-muncher, or Dracula?"

She punched him lightly in the shoulder. At least he had a sense of humor. "Oh don't be a pig, I'm just making conversation."

"Ladies don't hit people."

She opened her mouth incredulously. How dare he insinuate she wasn't a lady! Now was the perfect time to test out her fire spell again. "Why you-"

"THERE THEY ARE!"

At the outburst behind them Harry had shifted his gaze calmly over her shoulder and Hermione had to turn around completely in order to view her aunt and uncle, and the entire village of Nozamot standing behind them. Hermione sighed. They certainly had gone all out, what with the pitchforks, stakes, torches, garlic, and holy water.

"See, I told you that girl were trouble, and that we'd never should have taken her in! Look at her, the whore she is, lying in the mud, screwing a filthy vampire!" her aunt screeched at her, her thin spiteful face pulled into a malicious grimace.

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "How dare you, you dumb barnacle? He saved my life!"

"Wench, we went out of house and home to feed you and put clothes on your back. And now you insult us by trying to cover up what you done?" her uncle shouted, steamrolling right over her, "I say burn her! To prevent a dhampir half-breed!"

The villagers shouted in agreement. Hermione stared at the twisted angry faces surrounding her in growing horror. They stood against her in a bloodthirsty wall, seemingly wanting nothing more than to watch her burn at the stake, and to pat themselves on the back at another witch whore eliminated.

She'd worked side by side in the fields with these people since she was a child! They'd helped her acclimate to life in the mountains, helped take care of her when she was sick, given her food when her relatives decided on a wild hare to withhold dinner. And now they were ready to kill her like her life meant nothing. Like she meant nothing.

"How dare you," she said again, so angry she was almost unable to speak properly, "What the hell do you call all that?"

Hermione jabbed a finger at the macabre backdrop of black trees splattered with old congealing blood, and the rotting body parts clumped together in stinking piles like a morbid obstacle course. The villager's eyes followed her pointing finger, and for a moment no one moved. Then they all looked to Hermione's uncle for leadership.

Hermione ground her teeth. Brainless sheep, the lot of them.

Before Hermione's uncle could speak, Yolande pushed her way through the crowd, whacking the unfortunate people who happened to be in her path with her cane.

"And what's the handsome young gent got to say in defense of the lady's honor?" She cackled, clearly enjoying herself.

Harry did not look at her, but was clearly amused at being labeled a 'handsome gent'. He addressed the villagers. "This courageous lady has done nothing wrong, and I will defend her to the death."

"Oh gee, thank you mister hero man. The 'lady' swoons at such gallantry," Hermione muttered. The flowery chivalrous court speech too much for her to handle without some kind of snide comment.

Harry did not retort and continued to stare down the villagers, but Hermione received a retaliating poke in the back.

Her aunt and uncle were obviously losing support from the villagers due to Hermione's undeniably clothed state of dress, the sea of blood and viscera behind her, Yolande's intervention, and Harry's impeccable manners.

Her aunt stamped angrily at the obvious loss, and stormed towards her niece, hand raised, intending to slap her. Hermione's face went still, and she relaxed her muscles, ready to receive the blow. She was no stranger to beatings, and she knew how to take them.

.x.

To her surprise it never came.

Harry had casually bent forward so his head came up next to her face and his cold dry cheek barely brushed hers. His mouth opened wide in an ugly grin. The white dog-like fangs of his upper and lower teeth slid forward and lengthened, and the rest of his teeth visibly became longer and sharper. The pallid hand that rested on her shoulder twitched as the nails lengthened into thick sharp claws.

Hermione suppressed her urge to jerk away and she continued to watch her aunt who'd stopped short.

Her aunt was frozen, her large eyes fixed on Harry's ugly snarl, and her uncle watched in openmouthed astonishment. The villagers had begun to wander away now that the show was over, the adrenaline rush dissipating and not wanting to risk life and limb against the vampire.

Finally, only Hermione's aunt and uncle were left.

"Girl, you may have gotten away this time, but if you come back we'll sell you to a brothel. You belong there." Her aunt hissed, having regained some of her courage.

Hermione turned white at the injustice, and began looking around for her naginata. Harry beat her to it. He rose to his feet with fluidity that no human possessed and opened his mouth wide in a bloodcurdling scream like roar that would have made a banshee proud. Hermione's aunt and uncle stood staring for two seconds then turned tail and ran.

The trio watched their hasty retreat and then Yolande threw back her head and laughed.

"Ah," she said, wiping away tears of mirth, "It does this old crone good to see petty evil reminded that there are more badass monsters than them in the world."

Harry sighed and his fangs retracted slightly. He looked more like a little boy being chastised then a valiant knight who'd just rescued fair lady from a villainous madman. He pulled his heavy black cloak back up over his head, bowed slightly, and turned to melt dramatically back into the night.

"Not yet you don't, fang face," Yolande said, whacking him upside the head with her cane, "I've something I need to talk over with you. Come on."

She turned and strode back to her hut on the outskirts of the village. Without waiting to see if the vampire was following Hermione hurried after her.

Entering Yolande's hut, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

The old woman's house was small, consisting of one room and a loft, but it was warm and cozy. The living-room and kitchen was cramped. The old wood stove and rough wooden table, two chairs, and shelves filled with spell books, spell ingredients, dried food, and pots and pans, took up most of the space. The loft was small as well, containing only Hermione's bed, a small trunk filled with clothes, and dried goods hanging from the ceiling. Yolande's bed was under the stairs to the loft, blocking access to the hut's one window.

The old lady set about to making tea, and Hermione leaned her naginata up against a free spot on the wall that was not occupied by various objects. Hermione was just reaching down three mugs from a cupboard, when a muffled knocking sounded against the door.

"Oh bother, I forgot about the vamp. Go invite him in girl," Yolande said, without turning around from her place at the stove where she stood putting tea leaves in their little silver strainers.

"What?" Hermione stared at the door.

"He can't come in unless you invite him. Go on."

Hermione's brain started working again and she moved towards the door. Undoing the latch, she pulled it open. On first inspection it was a typical warm night: the birds were doing their screeching in the bushes, the neighbor's dog was eating garbage again...and there was a vampire on her front doorstep.

Harry stood on the porch, watching her.

"Harry Potter, you can come in," she said, stepping aside to let him pass.

"Thank you, Miss," he said politely as he glided past her.

"Quit it with the _Miss_," she muttered at him.

He grinned at her.

Hermione cleared some books and a dried chicken leg off of the spare stool and sat down, offering their guest the only other chair. Yolande brought the steaming mugs of tea over to the table, and settled into her chair with a satisfied grunt. They drank in silence, listening to the wind whistle angrily around the little house, unable to find a way in.

"Ah, that's hit the spot," Yolande said, setting her mug back down onto the table, "Now, boy, you heard what this girl's aunt said about the whorehouse. You won over the villagers, but once you're gone they'll go back to the aunt and uncle's way of thinking. These villagers are suspicious folk and they'll stop at nothing to kill anyone suspected of consorting with magic users or the undead."

"Then why are you not persecuted? Your house smells of magic and sorcery," Harry said, pointing to the spell books on the shelves for added emphasis.

Yolande cackled. "Let's put it this way kid: without me, these villagers wouldn't have medicine, a midwife, or good sage advice concerning life in general. No, it's not me but the girl who's in danger. The uncle's hatred of her and her family goes way back, and he's brought his wife over to his way of thinking. They're both twisted and poisonous human beings. It's best if the girl leaves Nozamot."

"Why do they hate me, exactly?" Hermione put in.

"I don't know the whole story, but it seems your uncle resented your father for getting his dental commission in the city, and for his wealth. Jealousy and greed, girl. He'd been plotting his revenge for some time, and when the city burned and your parents died it was the perfect opportunity. He wanted to break you, to make you pay in any way he could for your father's good fortune. And he will, if you don't leave Nozamot."

Hermione felt cold, and her knuckles turned white as they gripped her mug. She felt an unmistakable hatred towards her aunt and uncle boil up inside her.

Harry coughed. "I fail to see how I am involved, unless you wish me to destroy them. They are not worth feeding on. You are what you eat, as they say."

"Thanks but no," Yolande said, "murder is very rarely the answer. What I want is for you to take her with you."

Hermione choked, and Harry started in surprise.

"The Montagnes de Nuit is no place for a human girl." Harry said firmly.

For the first time in Hermione's life, she felt afraid of the little old woman. Her wrinkled old face was still the same, but her eyes were narrowed in dangerous slits and the irises now looked distinctly yellow.

"Boy, she'll be dead unless you take her with you. And they won't just kill her out right either. No, it'll take her several days to die. Besides, I used to live there. When she passes the trials it'll be an excellent place to learn magic. She's got the makings of a powerful sorceress, and she'll rot if she stays in Nozamot. That said, if you don't agree, I'll have your undead ass staked so fast that you won't even have time to reach across the table. I'm not asking."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Harry sighed in defeat. "Very well, I'll wait outside."

He rose, grabbed his cloak from where he'd draped it across the chair, and left the cottage. Hermione stared after him openmouthed, then turned her incredulous gaze to Yolande.

"You, you just-" She was lost for words. "He's a VAMPIRE."

Yolande grinned. "I just saved your life kiddo, he'll take good care of you. Go pack your stuff."

Unable to think of anything to say, Hermione rose jerkily to her feet and climbed the latter to her loft. She didn't have much. She packed a few clothes, a hunting knife, and some plants for healing and spells, a few coins she'd been able to hoard for herself, a water flask, and some food. On her way out the door, she snagged her naginata. She was surprised it hadn't changed back, and it was coming with her.

Harry stood in the puddle of light created by the open doorway, and stroked the nose of a massive black Thestral.

Hermione stared. "Undead horse?"

"His name is Gilly," Harry said, tugging on the monster of a horse's forelock affectionately.

"I didn't think that was possible. I thought you guys only did wolves and bats."

Harry peered down at her, and again she was struck with the absurdity of a vampire with bad eyesight.

"Every living thing has the possibility to become infected with Necromantic taint, to some degree at least," he informed her.

Hermione hesitantly held out her hand, and the horse's red tongue slid out from between sharp needle-like teeth to taste her hand. Both the horse's eyes, bright red with black irises, rolled forward to have a look at her. She held her breath, then soft velvet horse lips closed over those monster teeth and Gilly snuffled at her hand. Having passed the inspection, Hermione was deemed no longer interesting and then the horse's head dropped to nibble at the sparse grass.

"He's very interesting," Hermione said hesitantly.

Harry chuckled. "You'll get used to him."

Harry laced his fingertips together to form a makeshift step stool, and lifted her onto the horse's broad back. He pulled himself up in front of her and touched his heels to Gilly's sides. As they started off into the night Hermione turned back for one last glimpse of her old home.

Yolande stood in the doorway of her hut, arms folded and looking grim. The old lady waved, then turned and disappeared into her home, closing the door behind her.

Hermione closed her eyes tight against the tears prickling her eyes as Harry kicked Gilly into a gallop. The night sped up. The trees flashed past, little splashes of green against a black backdrop.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	3. Of Battles

**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing. Except for the things I made up._

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**Chapter 3: **Of Battles

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Hermione didn't know how long exactly they'd been traveling. She had had little sleep the night before, so her world had boiled down to blurred vision contemplating the complex weave of the back of Harry's cloak and the methodical plodding gait of the horse.

It was decidedly boring. She couldn't even bring herself to reach for her spell books to study.

She yawned for the umpteenth time, and then started suddenly when she realized that they'd stopped. She had no idea where they were, the terrain was alien to her. Harry had stopped, it seemed, in the back end of nowhere with nothing surrounding them but hard packed ground and a few sad looking trees.

She glanced at the horizon, wondering what the holdup could possibly be since he'd been keeping the same dogged pace since they'd left her little village, then immediately saw the reason.

The sky was beginning to turn pink to the east, and there was a burning golden line along the edge of the mountain line like flames just beginning to take to the edge of a bit of paper.

She gulped almost imperceptibly and glanced back at Harry. The vampire in question was sitting stoically on Gilly's back with seemingly not a care in the world, but a tell tale working in his jaw betrayed his worry. She poked him.

If he didn't have a plan he'd be a vampire clam bake in a matter of minutes and she had no idea how to go about reviving his charred remains. That was something only the most seasoned dark necromancer could accomplish, and she was neither a dark witch nor a necromancer.

She watched him slide off of Gilly gracefully, and without a glance at her rolled away a large lichen covered rock at the base of one of the more respectable looking trees, revealing a large gaping hole in the ground.

He'd begun to swing himself into it when her brain reconnected with her mouth and started working again.

"Wait, you're just going to leave me here?"

Harry looked back up at her, rather confused. "Yes. It would be most inappropriate for you to occupy my box with me, and there is no other room in my Earth Place. The sun is almost up and there is nothing here that would attack you in daylight that you cannot handle."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. She closed her eyes and counted to ten, trying desperately to control herself and not test out one of her exploding body parts spells on his uncaring scruffy head.

When she opened them the sunlight had invaded the world, driving him to firmly close the stone over his hole and leave her alone. She kicked the rough rock face with her boot angrily.

"You are absolutely by far the worst knight in shining armor I have ever seen," Hermione muttered, rubbing her stubbed toe.

Gilly whickered and slobbered over her shoulder; obviously sorry for whatever plight she seemed to be in. Not sorry enough, however, because the huge skeletal horse meandered off presumably in search of breakfast that didn't consist of scraggly trees or coarse mountain grass.

Hermione was left to her own devices. She scanned her surroundings almost mournfully. What to do? Twiddle her thumbs until her valiant protector wasn't in danger of being roasted by the world's deadliest suntan?

She sighed. Unfortunately, yes. She had absolutely no idea where she was and she would have to find someplace safe to rest until Harry could emerge from his sanctuary. She sighed again and then made for the nearest tree that was sufficiently high enough off of the ground and would bear her weight.

She scrambled up to the topmost branch and attached herself to the trunk. It wouldn't do to fall off, as she could already feel sleep tugging at her eyelids and insisting that she find rest. If she fell off, she could break something and then all she would be able to do would be to lie there and wait for some monster to come finish her off.

She slumped against the tree, dozing. It would only be for a minute...

.x.

When she woke she discovered that it was already dusk and that she'd slept through the entire day, Gilly was nowhere to be seen and there were no less than fifteen zombies milling about the foot of her tree.

They lurched about her tree, banging into the trunk and clawing furtively at its bark. Hermione watched them claw their rotting hands bloody for a moment, frowning. She didn't think they could get at her- but she couldn't be certain. Their cloudy eyes looked up at her and broken teeth were barred in snarls.

She clutched closer to the sturdy trunk and looked at the sun. It would be another fifteen minutes before the sun set and Harry popped out, presumably to rescue her.

She could not actually be sure as the four eyed cretin had actually left her here to fend for herself. Litter monster had left her in a tree to defend her against undead hoards because he couldn't handle a little sun. She sighed, she wasn't actually being fair. But still. She was in a _tree_.

A drawn out moan had her looking down again and she gasped. One zombie had bent and another smaller one, a child was crawling slowly only its back. Hermione stared. These zombies were _thinking_. If they kept with their current plan they'd reach her inside of five minutes. She wished she had her spell books to make certain, but to the best of her knowledge they were not behaving like normal zombies. There had to be a Necromancer Adept riding their minds. It was the only explanation.

She cursed under her breath and drew her wand. She didn't know if her magic would work directly on undead flesh, especially if the necromancer who raised the zombies had power significantly stronger than her own. It was worth a try though.

"_Riddikulus_," she murmured, pointing the tip of her wand at the nearest zombie.

The spell was meant for another creature entirely, but in theory should work if there was enough fear powering it. And Hermione was certainly terrified enough. The zombie's face wavered when the spell hit it, and for a moment a clown nose appeared over the rotting hole that served as its nose, but it soon disappeared. Hermione frowned. The message was clear: her magic would not work against these particular zombies.

What to do, what to do?

She clutched at her bag and watched their little makeshift pyramid grow. Then an idea struck her like a bolt of lightning. There may be a dark wizard riding them like some sort of evil tick mastermind, but the zombies still had their baser instincts that were impossible to override.

If there was human flesh for the munching, they'd be after it like a boggart on scaredy cat. With trembling fingers she drew her pen knife and drew the blade across the backs of her hands and her forearms, making shallow cuts that welled with blood.

She waited a moment, dropping little droplets onto the faces of the waiting zombies below. They shrieked and the pyramid crumbled. They were tangled in with each other, rotting and broken hands raised desperately, trying to catch every last drop that fell.

Hermione gulped. They had her blood scent now and if her shitty little plan didn't work she would literally be dead meat.

Her tree trembled as they rammed into it, mobbing into it and each other. Her hands outright shaking, she wiped her hands over her traveling bag, saturating it with her blood. When it was sopping she murmured a weak curing spell and watched her cuts slowly seal. Hermione paled. This was getting worse and worse. She'd lost too much blood and with it her power. If she got hurt again, she wouldn't have enough magic to heal herself.

Hermione took a deep breath. "Here goes nothing," she muttered.

She launched her bloody satchel as far as she could, blood drops sailing off of it like fat red bullets. The zombies scrambled after it moaning and screaming. Hey Presto! Instant zombie magnet. She took a another deep breath. She didn't have long before they'd figure out her ruse and the Necromancer who raised them got control again. Hermione said a quick prayer and jumped.

.x.

Agony seared through her and for a moment all she could see was white. She gasped in pain and looked down at her ankle and almost cried. She'd broken it. A bit of bone was poking through the already purpling skin. She gritted her teeth and drew her wand, focusing all her remaining magic down to a single point, gathering it.

"_Sanare_." Heal.

She'd barely breathed it, and the bone shifted slightly and her ankle went numb. That was the best she could do and she hobbled to her feet. At least everything was numb and she couldn't feel it. A collective howl rose from the pack of zombies, alerting her to the fact that they were on to her ruse.

She stumbled off into the woods, desperately searching for a place to hide.

She could hear them coming after her and for a moment was thankful that it was zombies and not something worse.

They were tenacious, no doubt about that, but they were still slow. She barely had time to think her plan through and debate about what she would do next. Her ankle would not hold for long. The spell had not healed her wound, but had merely numbed it and she could not keep up her flight for much longer.

She spotted a clearing and made for it, stumbling through the trees like she was drunk. Spying a hole in the ground at the base of a great tree she scrambled into it and tried to calm her breathing. She was relatively safe now; this was the best she was going to get. Her back was protected and there was only one way they could get at her and even then it was one at a time. She took a deep breath, willing away her panic. She could do this.

A howl alerted her to the fact that they had discovered her hiding place. She watched the first zombie drop to his knees and reach for her. She retched. He was missing the lower half of his face and the stub of his tongue dangled from his mouth. She waited till he was in range, and then stabbed, driving her knife into his eye.

He slumped and the next one began climbing in over top of him.

This went on for what seemed like forever, and then there were no more zombies. Hermione waited a moment, then pushed the pile away from her hole and crawled slowly out, watching them for movement. Nothing stirred however.

With the brains or hearts destroyed, the Necromancer would have no power over them. She drew herself to her feet and slowly hobbled back to camp.

.x.

She made it back to camp just as the sun set and found Harry emerging from his hideaway and Gilly licking her bloody bag.

He stared at her, mouth open. "...What?"

Hermione stalked past him angrily, giving him her hard stare on the way to her blood and horse spit soaked bag. "Don't. Say. Anything. I so hate you right now."

.x.

_To be continued..._


	4. Of Travelers

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing_

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**Chapter 4: **Of Travelers

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It took them another night and a half to reach the entrance to the Montagnes de Nuit and by that time Hermione's travel stupor had evaporated. Mostly due to her broken ankle but also to her growing feelings of sick nervous fear that seemed to have implanted themselves somewhere around her gut.

It her fear was then replaced by a nervous apprehension that increased with every step they took towards their destination. The mountains loomed closer every day, or rather night, and Hermione began a nervous habit of twirling her hair so tightly around her fingers that she often didn't even notice until the abused digits had turned an unhealthy shade of purple.

The night before they'd reached the Montagnes de Nuit, Harry had sat her down and carefully explained what exactly she'd be facing.

Trials, a death maze, monsters, magic, and most likely more zombies. He explained reasons of why exactly she'd be running the trials in great detail, leaving nothing out, but he'd also left the little facts of how she'd actually go about surviving up to her to figure out. Damn him.

Apparently, all who stumbled into the Montagnes de Nuit voluntarily or not, were 'compelled' by the high council (full of vampires, who'da thought?) to undergo a brutal series of trials in order to be allowed to either stay or leave in one piece.

It was the Dark Creature version of a very entertaining football game. It was also one piece of crucial information that Yolande had either forgotten or neglected to divulge. Either way she was royally screwed.

Hermione glared at her errant guardian over her pile of medical equipment as she tried her best to care for her wound. Harry had offered to help but Hermione stubbornly refused. There was no way in hell she'd accept his help as she firmly told herself that the broken ankle had been his fault to begin with.

Harry left her alone after that. Her brain quite firmly assured her that it was not because he was being a gentlemen, no siree, he was waiting to her to crack, she just knew it.

Well she wouldn't give him the credit. Him with his pretty green eyes, bad vision, good manners, and valiant zombie destroying skills.

She briskly applied her medicine, having grudgingly accepted his help earlier in setting the bone, then firmly wrapped her foot. Hermione's foul mood at being left to fend for herself did not overflow into the replacing of her equipment into her bag however. She carefully replaced her potions vials into their soft felt lined box, and fastened the clasps securely.

She took the time to assess her stock of potions while she was putting them away. Before she'd left Yolande's, she'd been careful to make sure that her small supply of necessary potions and herbs was well stocked. But now, with the run in with the zombie hoard and her broken ankle and the most certain probability of other unpleasant creatures, her supplies were growing thin and would most likely grow even thinner, and her weak healing spell was nowhere near enough to heal her ankle.

It could alleviate the pain somewhat and reduce the swelling but that was it.

She sighed. Nothing to do for the moment but to keep an eye out for feverfew and pokeweed as she was running low on both. Normally those plants, dried, were something one paid a metaphorical arm and a leg for at the apothecary. But these were the Montagnes de Nuit. She wouldn't be surprised to see clumps of them just growing willy nilly. Anything was possible. Unfortunately for her, salamander wings and the hair of a frog's egg were less possible.

She put away her equipment, and retrieved one of her few battered books of spells. She fully intended on scouring her collection for any useful information at all that would help her through the trials ahead, as well as heal her broken ankle quicker.

After stonily helping in the breakup of camp and accepting Harry's leg-up onto Gilly, she retreated into her books. By propping the binding up against the small of his back and holding onto his cloak, she was able to read comfortably without the fear of finding out she was falling and then it being too late.

Though she was still a tad upset with him and knew she wasn't being very pleasant, she was grateful that he was allowing himself to be a bookend.

She spent the next three hours studying.

Harry had given up attempting to make polite conversation after his first few tries had been met with rude non-committal grunts. It wasn't that she was attempting on purpose to be rude now, it was just that she had so much studying to get done.

Honestly. Never interrupt a nerd on a mission. Especially when you wronged said nerd by leaving her to fend for herself against the blood thirsty undead just because you couldn't handle a little sun. She searched her books rigorously for anything that would give her an advantage in the trials.

She concentrated on offensive spells, preferring to hit her target hard in the beginning without finding out later whether it had a bite or not. Hermione studied the ancient elemental battle spells, murmuring them under her breath while committing their unique shapes in her mind. They would exhaust her, and her magic would take a while to increase, but it would be worth it. She knew she finally had it when, an hour later, a mumbled _igni_' caused a wall of fire to rear up and temporarily block their path.

Gilly reared and screeched, more in surprise than in fright. Harry spent some time in quieting the great horse and then turned around to glare at her.

"What was _that_?"

Hermione made her eyes go as wide as they would go, attempting to make her expression as innocent as possible.

"I was practicing."

"Practicing, my undead ass! Next time refrain from practicing near me or my horse. I have absolutely no desire to be burnt to a crisp. If I want impersonate bacon I'll walk in Sunlight. I'm sure your way would be more painful," Harry said sarcastically.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at his back.

"It's not like it hit you, though that can easily be arranged," she muttered.

They rode for a while, and both were quiet. Hermione chewed her lip, uncomfortably. She knew she was being a shrew, but she couldn't help it. He HAD left her after all and she'd gotten a broken ankle and sore pride to boot.

Another long moment went by. "I'm sorry," she muttered, not looking at his back and keeping her eyes firmly glued to her book.

Harry laughed and shook his head slightly, and she amused herself by watching his short shaggy ponytail swing back and forth.

"Apology accepted, My Lady," he said, laughing at her.

"I said sorry, and meant it sir," she said, poking him in the back, "Accept it gracefully."

"Yes ma'am!"

.x.

What seemed hours later, Hermione noticed that the vegetation seemed to thin out and become almost non-existent, and what little there was existed in various shades of dark forbidding green and purple.

The rocks seemed to have a black, weather-beaten look and the higher they rose into the mountains the colder the wind seemed to whistle around them. The sun was almost hidden in the clouds now, and the dark shadows seemed to stretch towards the travelers like monstrous grasping reptilian fingers.

Hermione found herself unconsciously threading her fingers into Harry's cloak and keeping her naginata within easy reach.

Then there it was before them sitting on the mountaintop like some giant hulking thing, appearing as suddenly as though it had simply melted from the rock.

A great dark walled city made from cracked slabs of stone perched on the mountain.

It radiated ancientness, and the undercurrent of old power and magic was there along with the cold dead air of the vampires.

As they got closer Hermione could see faint lines of power etched into the stone surrounding the vampires' mountain keep. That surprised her. This was nothing at all like vampire power. While vampires were well known for their hard cold dead bodies, their icy claws and fangs, and their insatiable appetites- magic, and ancient magic at that, was alien to them.

Vampires could no more cast a spell then walk in Sunlight. They did not create anything new or channel magic; they could only corrupt and destroy.

As they rode abreast of the wall, Hermione put out her hand and touched the cool stone. Something whispered in the back of her mind, a murmur, a faint but heavy and echoing heartbeat.

She took her hand back, and her eyes widened. The stone was _alive_. The lines of power were awake, but barely. They were held in place by something. Something very old and very angry, yet sad.

Hermione stroked her palm, her brow furrowed in thought. What could it all mean? This power was no little thing of a mere witch like her or even Yolande, she could feel it. The touch of its presence was all over the entire vampire city. She reached out her hand again, then hesitated and pulled back.

Whatever this magic was, it was aware of her now, she could feel it. She didn't know what would happen if she stayed in contact with it for too long.

Harry's voice jostled her from her thoughts. "Welcome to Draoidh Keep."

His voice was low, and a little sad.

Hermione's head jerked up and she shivered. They'd stopped in front of a massive portcullis, though old, looked much more recent next to the ancient stone walls. The wide space it stood in looked as though some berserker monster had slashed the hole with its great talons, then bashed the gate frame in not caring if it fit properly.

For a moment thestral, girl, and vampire stood silently in front of it. Nothing moved save for the cold lonely wind that whistled through the rocks and rushed right through them.

She shivered, a cold tingle of fear running down her spine, though she did not completely know why.

A heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three.

Harry lifted his head back and screamed. Hermione watched him, frozen with her mouth wide in surprise and fear. Then she clamped her hands tightly over her ears. The world shrank to just the two of them, and she was unable to tear her gaze away from the awful transformation of his face.

His mouth opened wider and wider, and it seemed to her his eyes lost all semblance of bright friendly green with their normal human pupils, instead paling to a sickly olive color with black snake slits. She watched as his fangs lengthened, and even his red gums seemed to curl back over his sharp teeth. He was an animal, no longer at all human.

So this was what a vampire with no shields up looked like.

His face was so terrible to look at, and if Hermione had ever doubted before that polite Harry Potter with bad eyesight was an undead monster, she didn't doubt anymore. Finally she hid her face in the back of his cloak unable to even look at him, and was surprised to find her face wet with terrified tears.

The call echoed off the rocks and as it died away the portcullis raised with the shrieking groan of un-oiled metal. Hermione kept her face hidden in his cloak, calming her breath and trying to stop crying.

Gilly stood silent through the noise, and when the way was clear he started forward.

Harry said nothing, and his spin was rigid, but somehow his ice cold hand found its way to hers and she felt him squeeze her limp fingers in apology. Hermione allowed herself to rest against his cloak for a moment more, tricking herself into believing everything was okay. Harry's thumb stroked over the back of her hand and for a moment it was just him in the world.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She took a deep shuttering breath and let out a rather hysterical, albeit quiet, laugh. He was apologizing for what he was. Hermione felt like a complete ass. "It's okay, I'm fine. Sorry for overreacting."

He thought for a moment. "I should have warned you. Sometimes the shield comes down without me thinking about it."

She peeled her face out of his cloak. His back was ridged, but he looked like Harry again.

Shields, that hand dandy little vampiric trait that kept their prey happy and oblivious until it was too late, and they saw the true monster that had them in its grasp. He looked- no that was impossible. He looked almost, lost, like a little kid.

Big bad vampire didn't like what he was. How odd. She smiled slightly.

And then the moment was over, just like that.

Hermione raised her chin stubbornly taking in her new surroundings.

The city spilled out before them in a crater, easily five times the size of Nozamot. It was dark and cold and forbidding. The whole thing sprawled at the base of the mountain's summit. The city's citadel rose above it slightly, burrowed into the mountain's summit.

Even before Harry's ominously pointing finger indicated their direction, Hermione new that that was their destination, and the end of this particular journey.

What came after that only time would tell.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	5. Of Cells

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing_.

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**Chapter 5: **Of Cells

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It seemed to take forever to reach the citadel rising above the keep though in reality Hermione knew it took little time at all.

The streets were not at all silent like she had expected. They were thronging with humans and undead alike and all manner of strange and frightening creatures, some she did not recognize. There were shouts, screams, and laughter, slaves being bought and sold, and vendors selling their wares.

Hermione looked everywhere she could, determined not to miss a thing and to drink it all in. Not to mention steadfastly attempting to appear as though she was NOT clinging desperately to the back of Harry's cloak to hide the shaking in her limbs.

The market, or what seemed to pass for a market, was terrifying. All walks of life, creatures from her darkest nightmares squashed up against them. Harry seemed not to mind the frightening thoroughfare around him, but continued to guide Gilly towards the castle rising above the mismatched city.

Hermione clutched her things close to her and gritted her teeth.

She had such a bad feeling about this. The cold feeling of dread that had stuck with her like a tic was growing out of control, and she felt that it would eat her up if she didn't get a grip. It wasn't like she was completely helpless. She still had her brains, her magic and the use of her limbs. Mostly.

Her ankle would e a problem and Hermione hoped she had enough herbs to numb the pain as she didn't want to deplete her magic on keeping the wound happy. She took a deep breath.

Harry stopped them in front of the entrance to the castle. For a moment Hermione though they would go right in, but the sight of the shadowy figure standing just inside the door stopped her. The shadow's steady aura of malice caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise, and she noticed that Harry was sitting stiffly and pointedly in front of her, his glittering green eyes never once leaving the figure's silent form.

She was reminded sharply of mongoose sighting a cobra, and hoped fervently that the idea that the mongoose never lost was indeed true. For some odd reason she didn't think she could stand it if Harry were hurt. The thought of him in pain upset and frightened her.

"Harry Potter what have you brought me today?"

The voice that issued from the dark shape was dry and hissing and Hermione fought the urge to retch. The voice brought to mind slimy creatures sliding over dead bloating things and it seemingly coated her with its sickness. Hermione inwardly twisted with revulsion. Her fingers dug into Harry's back and though she was sure that he could feel it, he gave no notice.

"A potential slave, to run the trials," Harry said, giving no sign that he cared for her fate at all.

Annoyed, Hermione wanted to call him out on his behavior, but she sensed that now was most definitely not the time. Whoever this man was, this thing, it was not to be trifled with. Instead she sat quietly behind her guardian, trusting his judgment.

Harry and the dark entity haggled for a moment over entry price, and finally settled. The figure turned, and was gone. Just like that. Hermione blinked.

That was powerful magic. To just be simply gone in the blink of an eye without a noise or the aid of the elements. Just gone. To find a being as powerful as that- suddenly Hermione was not quite so confident in her abilities.

Harry turned to her, and she was surprised to see that his face was sad. He moved fluidly down from Gilly's back, and helped her dismount. Hermione was slightly miffed that he was more graceful at it than she was, but that fleeting thought was soon banished when she remembered what she would be facing.

"You will run the trials. They're readying the doors now. Be careful, hit hard, and watch your back," he whispered quickly.

His gaze was intense, and Hermione found herself shrinking from the weight of it. With horrified shock, she realized that this meant that he would leave her.

She watched him a moment, and after a few seconds hesitation on his part he gathered her into a one armed hug. It was probably meant to be reassuring, but it only served to remind her that he was already dead. His skin was icy cold, and slightly chalky. Ick.

Still, it was the soothing touch of a friend and Hermione clung to him tightly as though he was the only creature left in the world that was a friend to her. And in a way, he was. She pulled away first and breathed a deep, calming breath.

"Am I allowed to take my things?" She clutched her satchel protectively to her chest.

Harry nodded. "As long as it is your own. I can give you nothing."

She nodded, ducked her head and took a deep calming breath. For a moment they both stood quietly, and the only sound was the wind whistling through the stones of the keep around them, and the faint sound of the market below. Somewhere within the keep a door slammed, and heavy footsteps came towards them.

Harry bent his head over her and whispered hurriedly. "I'm sorry, to do this to you. Unfortunately there is no other way...I wish-" he stopped, hesitated.

Hermione looked up at him and smiled bravely, though she knew her chin was trembling and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. She had meant to be brave, but she could not help it. She took a deep breath.

"It's okay," she whispered back, knowing they had only moments, "I think I was dying where I was. I wouldn't have lived long in Nozamot. This is a chance. Whatever happens, at least I'm free. My future is my own to make."

Harry smiled at her. Then as if on afterthought he bent and pressed a quick and clumsy kiss to her cheek. In spite of herself, Hermione blushed. She touched her cheek and warmth spread through her and warmed her right down to her toes.

.x.

Then, the world sped up again and the moment ended. The sounding of a horn from with in the castle seemed to shake the ground and frightening soldiers in twisted dark armor swarmed from the dark doorway. Hermione found her arms bound behind her back, and the soldiers formed a ring around her and marched her into the darkness of the castle.

She turned back for one last look and found both Harry and Gilly watching her being taken away. She offered one last trembling smile to her guardian, to prove to both him and herself that she would be indeed all right.

Then she was enveloped into the castle's darkness.

Hermione shuddered. The images of dead things persisted in lurking behind her eyeballs, and her captors were not helping matters. They moved silently as if they were ghosts and save for the clinking of their armor and the echoes of their footsteps, all was eerily quiet.

Twists, turns, they seemed to go on for miles. The castle's dank corridors seemed endless. Hermione found herself completely turned around, and she found herself wondering whether they had done it on purpose.

She was just about to steel her courage and ask where the hell they were going, when they opened a small door and tossed her into a miserably dark and wet cell. Hermione managed by sheer luck to not land on her bad ankle. As it was, she lay shivering and stunned in the dark, and she listened to the door slam and the footsteps of the soldiers leaving her to rot in her cell.

"What have I got myself into?" she muttered.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	6. Of Trials

**Disclaimer:**_I own nothing._

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**Chapter 6: **Of Trials

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Hermione sorted through her things for the umpteenth time. Her wand she stuck through the front of her belt and she made sure the belladonna, the pickled dead man's fingers, and the homemade cherry bombs wrapped carefully in brown paper were within easy reach.

She nervously combed her fingers through her hair and straightened her dress. She wanted to check the dressing on her ankle but there was nothing to be done for it. It was cared for as well as to be expected and she needed to save her magic for the tirals.

She could suffer something more dire in the trials than a mere broken ankle and would need all the help she could.

She tapped her fingers, and did her best to refrain from pacing.

A deep gong reverberated through the castle. She looked up, straining to see in the dim light. The door to her cell opened with a soft click and swung open silently. She waited a moment then crept to the door and looked out.

As far as she could see there was darkness. Well, it's not like it could have been sparkling fireflies and fairy children. In a creepy Bastion of Unholy Doom such as this one? She expected no less than a few trolls and maybe a basilisk.

She took a deep breath and steeled her courage. Ugh, she felt slightly sick. Not for the first time she wished she were anywhere but her. Maybe somewhere there was a crackling fire, and hot chocolate spiked with a bit of Firewhiskey, and a thick down quilt, and maybe Harry reading her a battered copy of Beauty and the Beast that she remembered was her favorite when she was a kid.

She stood there for a moment, smiling stupidly. Then she shook herself. It seemed like the thought of Harry brought on her moments of day dreaming more, and more frequently. If she wanted to see him again, get out of this thing alive, she needed to move.

She strode bravely off into the dark.

.x.

Hermione soon found that the hallway ended on one end, most certainly the end she had come from. They obviously didn't want her escaping. Well, duh. Obviously no dice there. The other end sloped downward sharply and got noticeably colder. Lovely.

Down it was then.

She moved steadily downwards, and it got colder and colder.

Soon it became so dark that she could no longer make out her hand in front of her face. She shivered and held her wand out in front of her as if it were a sword. In a way, it was. It did battle with the monsters in the dark, and sent them crying back under the bed and into the closets from which they came.

"_Lumos_."

The tip of her wand flared brilliant white, and she had to blink away the spots that suddenly appeared across her vision.

When she could see again, her lips pursed in thought. Though she was deep underground, thick green ivy coated the walls. Though so it was almost unbearably cold it was also surprisingly dry. Cold and wet would be worse. Thank goodness for small favors. She rubbed at her arms, trying to chafe some warmth back into them. She wasn't entirely sure what to do.

She wished Harry were here, with his green eyes and knock down smile, with him it always seemed like the situation was under control. And the fact that he was a vamp and could rip the head off of any wicked beastie that wanted to tangle with him helped too.

She glanced back at the ivy.

Hermione smiled. Somehow the plants made her feel better. If they could make it down here then maybe she could too.

She reached over and tangled her hand into the cool leaves and instantly she felt the power that she'd briefly touched outside the keep.

It was stronger here, much stronger. It touched her magic and recognized her, recognized her for what she was. Strangely she was not afraid. She knew she should be, for this power could eat her very soul if it wanted to and she knew it. It was old, and angry.

It touched her and brought a curiously sweet and spicy taste to her mouth, as though she had just taken a large drink of hot chocolate with a bit of cayenne peppe. It warmed her right down to her toes. At least the magic was friendly, and by that she meant not turn an already dire situation into Invasion of the Body-Snatchers level situation. She took a deep breath and pressed her face into the leaves.

"Thank you," she whispered. It felt like the right thing to do, and she got the distinct impression that the magic whatever-it-was liked being thanked.

She continued on the path, feeling much better, her courage refreshed.

.x.

After a while, she came to a crossroads. She frowned, three different ways for her to go, which should she choose?

She stood a moment, debating. All three paths shot off into the darkness willy nilly, with no apparent rhyme or reason. Choices, choices.

Then the hairs on the back of her neck rose. She was not alone. Hermione spun and found herself face to face with a zombie, but like no zombie she had ever seen.

It stood there, just watching her. Every zombie she'd ever encountered attacked on sight, or whenever it noticed food. This one stood there watching. That frightened her more than anything she'd seen yet. It implied thought, a sentient mind in the putrid walking meat sack. A thinking zombie was not something she wanted to consider. They were bad enough already, what with the biting and infecting thing, insane amount of strength, and never getting tired.

She took time to study it. Might as well, as it wasn't doing anything.

It had no eyes, just barren holes in its head that had long since bled out. Its mouth hung open slack and it had no teeth and no tongue. Hermione frowned. What was it going to do? Gum her to death?

It swayed slightly and she was slightly shocked to notice that it had two knee joints, one bent forward and the other backwards, and not only was it naked but it also appeared to be sexless.

She paled. She knew of no Master of the Dead that was powerful enough to create a monstrosity of this caliber. The undead creatures she had thus far encountered in her existence were shambling, stumbling, stupid monsters. Dead raised with a single purpose: to hunt, and eat, and never stop. This was something else entirely. Hermione debated for a moment whether she could kill it with one blow. She wished she had her naginata.

They watched each other for a moment. Hermione was frozen with fear. Whatever it was, it was WRONG.

It sucked a great gust of air into its mouth, and her hair followed the small gale it created towards round fleshy opening in its face. She realized with horror it was tasting her scent, and it probably had not known for sure she was there until it did. She leapt backwards, and not a moment too soon. It let loose a horrid wrenching scream, and made a snatch for her with absurdly long fingers and nails drug against her collar bone leaving seven deep gashes.

She cried out; she couldn't help it.

It leaned its head back, and screamed again, calling. Without a second thought Hermione raised her wand and shouted, "_Flipendo_!"

It wasn't blasted to bits like she'd hoped, but the spell did knock it off its feet and propelled it backwards quite a ways. She decided then and there that if she ever got out of this infernal trial thing alive, that she'd invent a new knock back spell. Something that involved exploding body parts.

The creature sprang to its feet surprisingly quickly and she gripped her wand, knuckles turning white. Somehow, she knew it wasn't hurt. She turned and fled, following the spicy chocolatey cayenne pepper taste in her mouth.

It seemed forever that she ran in the tunnels, following the twisting turns and becoming more and more hopelessly lost.

.x.

It could have been hours and hours later, or mere minutes, she wasn't sure of time anymore. Her ankle was killing her. Hermione spend the remainder she had whispering healing spells as she ran. She did know that she'd managed to pick up at least six more of the creatures along the way.

She could hear their footsteps coming after her. They were FAST. They weren't making any more noise, either. They had her scent now and she knew they'd never stop until they'd carved her heart, still beating and bloody from her chest.

The floor was slanting steadily upwards and the darkness of the tunnel was fading rapidly.

Hermione clutched the stitch in her side and forced herself onward. She wasn't in bad shape at all, in fact she used to race the other kids in her village and she'd always out distanced them, but she'd been running with no brakes now for a while. Her vision was starting to get blurry and black around the edges.

Her wand blinked out when she broke into the cool fresh mountain air, a far cry from the stale and musty air of the tunnel. She doubled over panting.

Screams echoed in the tunnel behind her. Their prey had stopped and they knew they had her.

Hermione closed her eyes tightly expecting the end to hurt but something brushed her toes. She opened her eyes.

The entire clearing was covered in ivy. Ivy wound up the trees, along the walls that surrounded the clearing, and snaked along the ground. She rubbed her arms and shivered. It was very, very cold here. So much colder than the tunnels.

She glanced down.

Ivy was moving along the ground, inching towards the mouth of the tunnel. It curved around her like a river, and wound over the edge of the tunnel, then braided itself over the opening. Hermione watched the plants writhe and move, opened mouthed. She could feel the presence here, stronger than ever. It was so unbelievably old and powerful. Its magic washed over her and made her feel small.

She felt like a tiny spark in the middle of a contained super nova.

It was quiet for a moment; the only sounds were the wind and the ivy moving over the stone with a soft hush. She shivered again.

Then absurdly long fingers followed by spindly white arms punched through the ivy wall, grasping and snatching for her. She shrieked and leaped back. The creatures were screaming again, then howling when they realized that they were not going to be able to penetrate the ivy wall and that their prey was lost to them.

Hermione stared for a moment, then her laugh rang out and shattered the otherwise still night. She had honestly thought she'd been about to die. The ivy curled about her ankles like a tame cat, pulling her in towards the center of the ivy garden.

She hesitated, and it tugged at her more insistently. Alrighty, then.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	7. Of Friends

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing. _

**Author's Note:** _Here it is. Still plugging along, and I'll reach the end eventually. You may find characters a bit out of character, and then again, you might not. I don't know._

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**Chapter 7: **Of Friends

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She crept through the garden feeling like she was in church rather than running a bloody trial that would decide whether she ultimately lived or died.

It was very, very quiet here and the solemn air of the small enclosure weighed on her like a ton of bricks. She found her shoulders hunching in spite of herself and she gripped her wand close to her chest. She crept forward feeling like there were hundreds of eyes upon her waiting to see what she would do next. They had saved her from her pursuers and now it was up to her.

To do what, she had absolutely no idea.

She looked around. Ivy ran over the ground, and climbed up thick columns of stone. Hermione frowned. The huge stone blocks were arranged in a circle, with a series of smaller circles inside. It was almost like a smaller, more compact version of Stonehenge. But what this was doing on top of a mountain in the middle of a monsters' city, she had absolutely no bloody idea.

She walked forward.

For the space of a single moment the silence in the garden felt as though it could continue on forever, and then in the next the ground in front of her exploded outward.

Hermione shrieked in spite of herself and leapt backwards, yelping again in pain when her ankle twinged.

The ground boiled in a lump and then exploded, raining dirt and ivy leaves down around the clearing. A dirty rather squat looking creature leapt at her, yelling and brandishing a stick that some foggy part of her brain registered as a wand.

Hermione found herself petrified, unable to move.

The thing put its face close up to hers. "Boo," it whispered.

Hermione blinked.

The dirt monster, cackling madly at the look of stupefied shock on Hermione's white face, rubbed away the mud on its cheeks and pulled a lumpy knit hat off of its head. Hermione saw a grubby girl her own age with shaggy blond hair and rather protruding eyes gradually emerge and take the place of the short filthy monster that had stood there a second before.

They stared at each other for a moment and then the blond waved at her energetically. "Hi!"

Hermione clutched at her chest attempting to get the racing of her heart back under control. "What the hell?" she snarled, "What was that?"

The blond smiled serenely at her. "My name is Luna, and I'm pleased to inform you that you are NOT infected with the Northeastern Undead Speckled Booby."

Hermione, feeling like a broken record, said again this time more calmly, "What?"

Luna nodded sagely. "That's how you check for them you know. Startle them into coming out of the nose. Rather fascinating process, actually."

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes, and counted to ten.

She felt quite certain it would be bad form to point and laugh at someone she had only just met even if said person was unimaginably funny. She wondered whether this Luna person was part of the trials, and then decided that the answer to that question was a firm no. She seriously doubted that the people running the trials would attempt to cause her to laugh to death.

Luna was watching her, smiling slightly. "The guards who were minding my cell made that face a lot."

Hermione chuckled, and then stuck out her hand. "I'm Hermione Granger. Happy to meet you, I think."

Luna shook it firmly. "I think you are too. My name is Luna Lovegood."

They stood there for a moment, and then continued on. It was an unspoken agreement that the center of the garden was where they had to be.

Hermione had had no idea that there would have been anyone else running the trials, but she was glad of the company. This Luna Lovegood was an odd person but Hermione couldn't sense any malice from her. She grinned to herself. She didn't think that the monsters running this thing would have expected their prisoners to bond, or they wouldn't have let them through together, but here they were.

They moved on farther into the garden.

.x.

The ivy pulled away from the path as they walked, revealing a pathway of hard packed dirt and stones worn down by many years of hundreds of feet walking it. Hermione shivered. Everything was so old.

The aura of ancient magic grew stronger the farther they went in and it sang in her blood. She suddenly felt like she could do anything, be anything.

They walked through the final arch and stood in front of what was unmistakably an alter.

There was a body on it, a woman laid out prone on her back. She was huge, at least seven feet tall. Her thick black hair was braided into dreads that brushed would have brushed her butt had she been standing. Heavy beads and feathers were bound into her hair and whorls of blue tattoos danced over her white arms and shoulders and belly and down to her feet. The woman was dressed in a scant leather skirt and a simple leather band kept her chest from being indecent.

"I don't think the people running this like her much," Luna said, "I think they're afraid of her."

Hermione glanced at her. "Why do you say that?"

"Look at her hands."

The woman's hands and feet were bound spread eagle to the stone alter on which she lay. Hermione took a closer look and then gagged. Stakes of wormwood were punched through her hands and thighs, and her belly was recovering from a wound that was obviously meant to disembowel her. Ivy spread from the wound, and from a score of other wounds on the dead woman's body.

Without knowing fully what she was doing, Hermione laid a hand on the woman's brow.

She snatched her hand back. Power, unimaginable power burned at her and threatened to consume her in the three seconds she'd touched the body. And she knew for a fact that that woman was not dead, and not even human.

Luna was watching her. "Are you alright?"

Hermione nodded, clutching her hand. Now she knew the source of the angry ancient magic that burned throughout the Montagnes de Nuit.

She glanced at her hand almost expecting it to be burned, but her fingers were unblemished. The two girls looked at each other, not entirely sure what to do. A huge bang from the entrance to the tunnels rocked the small garden. As one they turned wands out stretched and a spell on their lips ready for whatever would come through the gate.

They weren't expecting yet another girl.

A young woman with fire red curls came stumbling through the clearing breathing like a freight train.

She had blood on her hands and her wand was smoking faintly. If new girl tried to scare a Northwestern hoosiwatsit from any orifice in her body, Hermione promised silently that she'd do her best to curse her into next week. The girl saw Hermione and Luna standing there facing her with their wands outstretched and she skidded to a halt. She made to raise her wand and then doubled over wheezing. Hermione hesitated, and then strode over.

"Are you hurt?"

The girl waved a hand at her, still trying to catch her breath. "No, I'm alright. Thanks though."

The newcomer straightened, and all three women looked at each other.

"Now what?" the girl asked.

Hermione had absolutely no bloody idea, but before she could actually say anything the moon rose up above the mountain line and cut a straight path to where the woman lay on the stone sacrificial table.

The faint light lit up her body and sunk into the ivy leaves, leaving her tattoos glowing faintly. A faint heart beat sounded in the garden and woman took a breath and her eyes opened. The stakes, saturated with moonlight, dissipated.

The woman stood slowly, then raised her ruined hands at the sky. She screamed. The horrible sound echoed off of the stone pillars and the rocks, and vibrated the very air around them. When the sound finally died away, she turned to look at the three facing her. Hermione paled.

The giantess's eyes were like mirrors, slicing circles of silver with no pupil and no end. Her voice was deep and guttural, a growl that promised pain and vengeance. On what, Hermione didn't know exactly but she had a pretty good idea. It could only be the vampires.

_"We are Hecate,_

_And we have brought you three,_

_One thousand years, and a day,_

_We have been bound, and betrayed._

_Three is needed, and three is done,_

_Free the beasts, and the battle is won._

_Courage, Wisdom, and Cunning, Come forth,_

_Accept, and my boon shall be yours."_

Hecate, the Witch Queen if Hermione remembered her legends and lore correctly, had a voice that echoed hollowly and rang in their ears.

The redhead gulped almost imperceptibly and stepped forward. The Witch Queen grinned, showing teeth that were filed down to sharp points. She laid her broken and wounded hands on the girl's forehead and muttered something, eyes closed.

Hermione found herself straining to catch the words. It sounded like old Gaelic, but she could not be sure. Hecate took her hands away and flames curled from the girl's finger tips.

"Awesome," she whispered. The redhead sent a fireball spinning off into the night sky.

"_Courage,_" Hecate murmured, and then her gaze fell upon Hermione, "_Wisdom._"

Hermione stepped forward and tried to hide the action of wiping her sweaty palms on her dress.

Hecate's hand on her forehead burned like fire and stuck like ice, all in one. She felt like her brains were melting and her eyeballs were leaking out of her nose. She was dying, bleeding, screaming, and she was laughing and soaring. She could see forever, and yet the moment was over in an instant. She gasped when Hecate took her hand away, and she realized she forgot to listen to what the woman was saying.

Hermione sat in the dirt, her weakened legs suddenly unable to hold her. To her complete surprise, however, the ground rumbled a little and a thin stream of dirt curled up and around and over her fingertips, clearly saying hello.

Earth, Hecate had given her the power to control earth. Amazing.

Hermione had a sudden vision of being able to screw with Harry even when he was protected in his box. Yes, Harry dear, karma is a _bitch_. Finally she'd be able to get him back for that whole leaving her to save herself from the zombies thing.

_"Cunning."_

Luna stepped forward. Out of all of them she did not seem afraid. She was smiling lightly as that hand fell on her head. A moment later a lightning bolt cracked down from the sky and Luna's hair stood out on end. The air smelled distinctly of ozone. Hecate stepped back.

_"Moonrise is allmost done,_

_And now the end is begun,_

_Still I am bound,_

_But Hark! The sound!_

_Vengeance is on the way."_

Hecate smiled gimly, then an expression of pain crossed her face. Her eyes dulled and she turned to the stone sacrificial table and lay back down. As the moon rose fully the light left the table and the wormwood stakes reappeared. The Witch Queen's eyes closed and the life visibly left her.

The three of them stood there a moment, watching her, but nothing happened. The garden was quiet. Even the ivy lay still. Obviously whatever power had been there, Hecate had exhausted it in giving them their gifts.

An unearthly howl broke the silence, along with the crashing that signified that the zombies had finally broken free of their ivy prison. Luna sighed. Lightning crackled in her hair and snapped in her clothes.

"I suppose we'd go better say hello to our guests."

"Hello indeed," the redhead mumbled, "I'm Ginny, by the way."

Hermione nodded at her. "I'm Hermione, and that's Luna. Good to meet you."

"Likewise."

The three witches strode off into the garden to face the dark, and this time it was the dark that ran.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	8. Of the Idiocies of Servitude

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing. _

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**Chapter 8: **Of the Idiocies of Servitude

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The rest of the trial passed in a blur. They ran the last few legs of their journey with cramped lungs threatening to shoot out of their chests all the while shooting tired spells over their shoulders at the monsters that continued to dog their heels. The magic was thinning and waning, and each witch could feel the strain of having to call the last drops up from the depths of their souls and wondering whether they'd have any left when this was all over.

Hermione couldn't know if it was some magic of the screwed up monster game or if it was all in her own head, but time seemed to whiz past her in a confusing blur of dark passages, magic flares, and monsters. The little ragtag band of witches clung together in the darkness, stubbornly obliterating whatever creatures were unfortunate enough to cross their path while all the while slowly plodding onward and upward through the maze of tunnels in the mountain until they reached the final gates.

Freedom, such a powerful word held in such a simple image of three gigantic tri pillars that held the mouth of the cave open and offered a glimpse of the night beyond them.

Hermione swallowed as they reached in front of the entrance gates. It was an impressive and awe inspiring sight that had them stopping a moment to look.

The massive gates were clumsily hewed out of heavy stone and had runes carved into their granite surfaces that twisted and churned like snakes. Blue fire crackled through their strange lines and Hermione had to tear her eyes away from the lure of their magic.

This wasn't clumsy Necromatic magic, but the magic of the ancients and it spread from the Witch Queen in the garden and ran throughout the mountain like blood. She didn't know how the vampires, or whomever was running this show, had managed to piggy back and harness this great force but it was obvious that whoever the thief was, was sitting on a pile of lit dynamite.

She had a feeling that whenever it blew the magical fallout would level the entire city. That sinking feeling persisted in whispering that the trio of witches was going to be instrumental in that downfall.

She glanced at her fellow survivors. The little group had stopped in front of the massive stone pillars that simultaneously signified the end of the labyrinth and the beginning of an uncertain future among the lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

They stared at each other, each girl taking in the others' pale dirty faces barely illuminated in the light from their combined wands.

Exhaustion reigned supreme, but there was also a distinct sense of triumph. They'd seen the challenged posed on them, and they'd come out on top. Not necessarily in one piece and it would take a while for their magic to fully replenish and for them to completely master Hecate's gift.

All the same though, they'd won. It was messy and dirty, yes, but they had _won_. It was surprisingly terrifying, taking that first step out of the gates to face whatever it was that lay in wait for them.

"Well," Hermione whispered looking around at each of them, "This is the end of it, and I feel like we should say something."

"Do you think we should go out at the same time?" Ginny wondered, tapping her wand against her thigh in a nervous, irregular rhythm, "They can't have expected us to do this thing together and the penalty for breaking their rules probably won't be a little slap on the wrist."

"I have a feeling they already know." Luna casually squashed a spider under the heel of her boot.

They all looked down at the mashed body of the dead spider and watched it drag itself toward the gate even though most of its fat spiky body had been crushed to a thick and gooey paste.

Hermione fought the urge to barf. It was an undead construct and now that she was in the Montagnes de Nuit she knew she should be expecting things like this, but still. Watching something that was obviously dead but being ridden by a Necromancer drag itself across the floor took some getting used to.

Maybe it was the marionette way the spider's body jerked, or maybe it was the thin aura of death magic emanating from it now that the body had been broken, but it gave her the heebie jeebies.

"Blech." Ginny's face was screwed up in distaste. "I wonder how long that thing has been watching us? Probably since the beginning. Gives me chills just thinking about it."

She raised a slim finger and a small jet of flame incinerated the spider's corpse. Hermione smiled. The magic may be running thin but it was not yet quite gone. That little bit of control over the elements certainly did wonders for her feelings of misgivings about their future. Power did that remarkably well, even if it was a little bit and the enemy was a dead spider.

The gift that the Witch Queen had given them was instrumental in bolstering their confidence. It added an unknown element to a future that already looked like it was going to have a dismal outcome.

It added hope. For that she was grateful. It provided the little burst of adrenaline and confidence to step out through the gate.

Luna squatted and put her face near the flat ground where the spider used to be. "I wonder if I should fry it? I don't want to be left out. Candles on the cake you know are very impressive. You know the little sparkler ones? I had one for my fifth birthday. My hair caught fire."

Hermione choked, surprised that she could still laugh at a time like this.

The three witches joined hands and walked through the gate. I

t was comforting, Hermione thought, knowing that they were on either side of her. Bonding through dangerous and most likely harmful deeds involving magic and monsters were a good way of making friends a girl knew she could count on. For better or for worse, they were in it together.

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They strode forward, their feet making soft crunching sounds in the dark. The pillars loomed on either side of them until they broke through into the clear night ahead. Walking through the end of the tunnel blinded them.

The open night at the other end of the tunnel was illuminated by torches and bonfires, and at the appearance of so much light after all the dark of the labyrinth she at first didn't see the multitude of creatures that surrounded them.

Hundreds of different monsters ringed the clearing surrounding the cave entrance forming a giant single mass.

The sight of scores and scores of monsters from her worst nightmares and the deepest recesses of her spell books greeted her. They stood a silent immoveable wall across the clearing from them, with hundreds of eyes glittering and boring holes into them with all the mercy and heart of rocks.

Hermione felt the logical side of her brain that couldn't be terrified begin to catalogue the wicked beasties, while the realistic side of her attempted to get the sweating of her palms under control. Fear meant weakness and the creatures no doubt thirsting for blood would be sure to exploit whatever they could sense.

Strangely enough, the classification helped sooth her already ragged nerves. _Minotaur, weakness bronze sword. Shapeshifter, silver. Ogre, destruction of heart. Don't know what you are. Don't know. Don't know. Wow that one's weird looking, I wonder how he eats? Vampire, chop off the head or stake the heart. Zombie, chop-_

A form congealed from the crowed and oozed forward like a snake and put back its hood.

Hermione wanted to throw up, and she could feel Luna's and Ginny's grips tighten on her hand. He -it, whatever it was, was terrifying. Words couldn't even begin to describe the wrongness of that being gliding across the clearing towards them. Hermione found herself unable to even meet those ruby red eyes that bore into her own like bottomless black holes. Dread settled in her chest and a cold fear nipped at her spine.

It was a vampire, or at least she thought it was. Harry was nothing like this. If she thought his true face had been horrible, than this thing was positively terrifying.

The pale and slimy fleshed cavern in the creature's face that served as a mouth opened wide and she got a lovely glimpse of needle fine snake teeth before it spoke. She took it back. Looking at the damn thing was child's play.

Nothing compared to the awful sound of its voice. She found herself wishing that she could do anything to make it stop. It rolled over her like something rotten and foul and burrowed straight down into the core of her being. She wanted to die.

"_Sstrange...that there are three of you...How…...unsavory...For the penalty of cheating, you are rewarded sslave sstatus. You will be branded and auctioned_," it whispered, yet every word was heard by the crowd as though it had shouted them.

If she could think at that particular moment, she would have been indignant. Cheating? Because they combined their resources and worked together and survived? She hadn't thought they'd overlook the fact that they'd worked together and destroyed the creatures chasing them, but they _had defeated the challenge_. Slavery? Yolande had said nothing about slavery.

It waited a moment, she could've heard a pin drop. No one moved. Not a creature stirred.

Then it smirked at them and put its hood back over its horrible face. The crowd parted and three huge guards dressed head to toe in heavy silver armor with snakes embossed on their bright metal coverings stepped forward and flanked it. They moved with a sort of jerky gait and while she couldn't feel any Necromatic aura coming from them, she had a nasty feeling that there wasn't any living being inside that armor. As a group they turned.

Some sort of honor guard, she supposed, though she could not imagine anything alive or dead wanting to tangle with whatever the hell that monster even was.

Everyone watched as they strode away and disappeared into the night. Well, that was that then. With the covering of that terrible visage and then the sight of it striding away, she could almost see the crowd heave a collective sigh of relief.

It made her feel better, knowing she was not the only one who was scared shitless over whoever or whatever the hell that thing was. Even the monsters were afraid. There was an unsettling quiet for a moment where no one moved, and the hush was decidedly unnerving.

A man coughed at the edge of the crowed and stepped forward. After facing the demonic looking hooded figure, this man looked almost comical. His white blond hair was pulled back in a long pony tail, and coupled with the dark green and black doublet he wore with silver fringe, Hermione had to do her best to keep from laughing.

Not to mention she'd just spotted Harry in the crowed, and he was watching the man with a look on his face that suggested that he'd just smelled a dead fish that had gone the wrong side of sour.

She didn't wave and draw attention to either him or herself, but it was comforting to see him there. She didn't harbor any allusions that he would protect her; she was not as foolish as that. After he had brought her here probably knowing that slavery had quite possibly have been her fate, but then again he didn't make any excuses for what he was.

He had made sure that she had known from the very beginning that he was nothing less than a true monster, and he'd even shown her his real face when she suspected that he'd sensed that she'd begun to think of him as a friend.

She allowed herself a small smile at the ground, hoping no one would see it but all the same not really caring if they did. Harry Potter _was_her friend, she realized, with no little surprise. She looked back up at him standing in amongst the beasts as though seeing him in an entirely different light. He stood in the crowd to no doubt watch what became of her, he'd done his best to see that she lived through the trials.

The outcome of the trials had been up to her and was, while somewhat impossible, entirely within her control.

This was a new situation, one that she did not appear to have any influence over. She didn't want to hope on it, but a whisper in the back of her mind told her to quit worrying, that somehow it would all be okay.

It was entirely illogical, listening to the ramblings coming from the dark of one's own mind, but she decided to give it a go. After all, what was the worst that could happen?

The man banged the long dark walking stick in his left hand in the dirt, and while it didn't call the attention of the crowd nearly half so well as the monster that had been in their midst, it did serve its purpose. The crowd slowly settled and once more all eyes were resting on the three witches with pale frightened faces covered in blood and dirt and leaves standing at the center of the clearing.

"Three of you," he hissed, obviously attempting to be menacing but after his counterpart he only succeeded in sounding snotty.

He raised his voice, sensing himself that he was losing the crowd and he'd better step up his theatrical game. "Three witches of some magical power! What will you have them for? Cooking? Cleaning? A Magical elixir to sup at your leisure? These are no mere hedgewitches to put a half charm on your hair, come gentlemen! Priceless commodities, what'll the bidding start at?"

Ginny snorted.

Hermione choked, wisely choosing not to look at her. She had a feeling that if she laughed at the announcer that it would not help her plight any.

The announcer had somehow sensed their inner laughter and he reached forward and yanked Luna forwards by her blond hair. She gave a surprised little squawk and had to reach up and grab the end attached to her to keep her hair from being yanked straight out of her head. That burned the laughter right out of them and they stood there silent, the weight of the situation bearing down on them.

The crowd was egged by that little show of dominance and they roared and gibbered and snarled excitedly, no doubt asking the announcer for a little blood.

And so the bidding commenced. Their lives and their very existences were auctioned off like cattle. And Harry said nothing. Hermione felt the little niggling sense of unease, that maybe he'd forgotten about her, that maybe he wasn't going to speak for her.

Voices shouting, calling out numbers and prices, roars and snarls rolling together into one angry and confusing tide.

She wasn't going to cry. She looked down at the ground, willing the dears away and dammit she _would not_ cry in front of the monsters. Ginny was gone. She'd been the first to go. Bought by a pale, younger, snottier version of the man doing the announcing. Luna had left with an older creature a little while later, a impish looking beastie that looked like it was half dog and half man.

She took a deep breath. Soon she felt those long skeletal fingers tangle in her hair and throw her forward into a pair of thin and bony and impossibly cold arms. The crowd roared, disappointed that the fun was over and done with.

Hermione didn't hear any of it, and instead focused on a fact that filled her with increasing horror. She was sold.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	9. Of New Homes

**Disclaimer:** _I own nothing. Except for the things I made up._

**Author's Note:**_First off I wanna thank __**Pawsrule, Audrell, Booklvr. Annie**__, and all the rest of you who keep reviewing and telling me you like the story and keep coming back for more! Thanks guys, it means the world!_

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**Chapter 9: **Of New Homes

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She looked up and her heart about dropped out of chest and into her stomach. The last person she'd have expected to be holding her and saving her from an embarrassing face plant into the mud of the clearing was the person in fact holding her.

Harry Potter wasn't looking at her, however, he was busy trading insults with the dog man she vaguely remembered take Luna, or rather hauled her off by tossing her over one shoulder.

Luna hadn't responded like most damsels in distress might, rather the girl had sported a dreamy expression whilst pulling the dog man's tail most energetically. Though Hermione supposed, shrieking and fainting while acceptable damsel in distress behavior wasn't at all practical. And she would have totally pulled his tail too had she been in Luna's place.

That tail was ripe for pulling.

Upon closer inspection the dog creature didn't look quite as fierce as she recalled; the head of a dark shaggy haired mutt sat upon the fairly broad shoulders of a man's body, although short fur covered him head to toe and poked out around the seams of his ill fitting purple robes.

All in all he wasn't nearly as fierce as she'd originally thought.

His lack of ferocity could have been all the purple he seemed fond of, or the giant red and gold top hat with a sparkly gold lion yawning on the brim, or the shiny green dragons hide boots he wore. All in all he looked like he'd had an unfortunate run in with a circus. Not scary in the least.

"Did ickle Pottykins just buy himself a widdle girlfriend?" he chuckled.

Harry's white cheeks had two spots of pink on them. "Shut up Sirius."

"You know normal people don't buy girlfriends, they send them flowers or something."

A vein throbbed in Harry's temple, and he looked like he was either going to spontaneously combust or throttle his godfather.

Interesting. Hermione wanted to poke at his vein with her wand, maybe test his spell makeup, as she was sure of herself that vampires did not have flowing blood. They were dead bodies, raised with a particular Necromatic spell to ensure that they rose as vampires, but were still essentially dead bodies moving around. Ergo Harry's temple vein should not be throbbing. Weird.

Harry wasn't paying attention to her scrutiny. Instead he was looking at Sirius with a look that would have cowed a lesser man. "If I threw a stick, Godfather dearest, would you chase it?"

Sirius showed Harry his teeth, every single sharp white finger sized tooth. "You wouldn't dare."

"Is it because we both know you would chase it?"

They looked like they were seconds away from tossing aside all logic and having a throw down in the dirt.

It was horribly fascinating that a vampire could look like they would need to be reminded about their blood pressure. She could recall the passage in one of her grimoires from Yolande that talked about Necromatic magic, and according to the text Harry was quite frankly a magical marvel. Hermione's fingers were reaching for her bag to retrieve her medical spell book when Sirius glanced at her, saw her face, and laughed.

She wrinkled her brow. How rude. She didn't think she was all that good at transfiguring things, but a toad shouldn't be that hard.

The dog man would make a lovely toad, especially if he continued to laugh at her like that. She knew she was dirty, and she hadn't had a bath in days, and her hair was frizzing like she'd stuck her finger into a barrel of water during a lightning storm, but it was not at all polite to laugh to a lady's face. The least he could have done was waiting until she wasn't around.

Sirius apparently wasn't aware that he was getting closer and closer to serving out the rest of the night as an amphibian, and continued to chuckle at her, finally catching Harry's attention.

Harry looked away from where he was trading vile insults with what Hermione assumed was a dear relative (though that assumption was rapidly draining down the tube as their pissing contest went on) to look at the girl he was supposed to have been rescuing.

Only to find that her eyes were two inches from his own and had a squinty eyed expression usually reserved by alchemists for their lab rats.

"Ack!" His head reeled back from hers, and he lost his balance and sat down in the mud.

"My lady," The dog man stepped over his godson and served her an elaborate bow that had her impressed and tickled pink in spite of herself, "Allow me to introduce myself: I am Sirius Black, Lord of Black Manor and Godfather to the whelp you see sitting in the mud. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He bent over her hand to kiss it and she almost giggled when the whiskers from his muzzle tickled the back of her hand. It was an extremely wet kiss, made wetter when he realized she was on the verge of laughing and made it all the slimier when he began to slather her hand with spit from his long smelly dog tongue.

Hermione snatched her hand back and began to scrub it on the back of her dress trying to get the slobber off of it. "Ew!"

Harry had been watching this exchange with something akin to horror and he now sprang up out of the mud like a cursed jack-in-the-box. "Sirius you tosser!"

Sirius laughing, his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a pink streamer, dodged his godson's annoyed shove and strode off into the crowed, leaving Hermione and her guardian standing together awkwardly.

.x.

The moment ended.

She coughed and shuffled her feet, feeling like something should have happened and couldn't, or that she should have said something and didn't. Harry cleared his throat and glanced up at the rapidly lightening sky. Then he bent and fished her bag out of the mud and slung the strap over one shoulder, chivalrously carrying her satchel for her.

"Well, this way then."

She was suddenly irritated. Oh no he was not turning this into some awkward friendships where he'd avoid her and not look her in the eye whenever they did speak.

She went through that bollocks when she was thirteen and in the village Nozamot the number of boys far outweighed the girls. When they entered that awkward teen state they went from playing war with girls to outright avoiding them when they realized that girls were pretty instead of being their previous cootie laden state. That had been over and done with for years, and dammit they were adults and not going to go through this again. It was silly.

"Harry Potter," she hissed through her teeth.

A normal person wouldn't have heard her, but Harry's vampiric hearing was excellent and his shoulders hunched almost imperceptivity as he turned to face her. She swallowed a laugh. His expression suggested that he was about to face a rampaging blast ended skrewt rather than a five foot four witch.

"…yeah?"

She strode right up to him, grabbed him on the nose and gave it a hard tweak. His nose bright pink and abused, he stared at her, gob smacked. She ignored him and walked passed looking down the trail looking to see if she could get a hint as to where they were going.

"Okay, I feel better now, we can go," she said.

Harry got his mouth under control and shook his head, moving past her to walk down the little path. "Barmy witch. This way."

.x.

She followed him as they climbed down the mountain and into the valley below.

The little dark cobbled road was quite lovely despite the monsters that trod it, and now that she was free and her immanent doom was over and done with she was able to fully enjoy the walk. And also contemplate the vampire walking ahead of her.

Harry Potter she did not get. When she stepped back and actually looked at him, in all honesty he was a vampire: A walking corpse infused with enough Necromatic magic to be able to function without the aide of a Necromatic pilot riding his mind, a step up from a zombie. But he was still dead, and technically he should be incapable of the human feelings and actions he seemed to exude without even trying.

Vampires, legend and myths stereotypes aside, were not caring creatures. According to her magic grimoires they were cruel and heartless monsters, and while capable of higher thought and reasoning, they used their knowledge to control people and cause misery.

They didn't have bad eyesight, they weren't polite, and they didn't care about nerdy little witches who read too much for their own good. Harry Potter was an enigma, and she sensed that there was more going on here than anyone was mentioning.

The whole setup was fishy.

Harry Potter, and the dog man Sirius Black...she didn't want to draw conclusions prematurely, but they were all too _good_ for a place like this. They were good men, good souls. They didn't belong in the hooded man's entourage. They didn't belong with the beasts, even though for all intents and purposes they were beasts themselves. There were genuine monsters here, and the two men did not fit in.

There was a mystery here, and Hermione Granger was going to sort it out if it was the last thing she did.

.x.

_To be continued..._


	10. Of Learning and Spells

**Author's Note:** _Yurrg. It has been sooo long since I updated this, and for that I am sorry. I am also changing the chapter titles. I'm tired of Roman Numerals, they involve too much thinking. I doubt anyone will notice, lol, but here's the explanation. Also, if I have butchered Parseltongue, I am sorry for that too. Just so's ya know._

_Please read and review, I love hearing from you guys!_

**Disclaimer**: _I own nothing_

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**Chapter 10:** Of Learning and Spells

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Harry led her through the bustling little town and market place, and now that there wasn't anywhere in particular she had to be, she drank in the sights like a drunkard.

They had to dodge large rowdy groups of minotaurs and giants drinking in front of taverns, and once or twice she almost stepped on what she was pretty sure was a gnome. Vampire ladies in long flowing skirts swept past them, sparing them nary a glance with their haughty faces. Fae and Elves brushed shoulders with the Weres and Changlings.

It was a Magical Marvel.

None of these creatures coexisted in what Hermione called ineptly Nature, and couldn't for the life her understand what they were doing all together in the same area. Vampires fed on the magic of whatever living creature they could through their blood, and Elves and Fae on principal didn't get along with the Undead. Minotaurs and giants were solitary and territorial creatures, and these all were just the tip of the iceberg.

Since none of these monsters paid her any mind now that she'd been sold and dealt with, Hermione felt free to stare. And stare she did.

Her brain clicked along and she wished she could whip out her notebook and start taking notes, but she didn't think the citizens of this bizarre little community would appreciate that. She also wondered about the man in the cloak. Everyone had seemed deathly afraid of him and they'd hung on his every word. Maybe he held the creatures in thrall, but that would take powerful magic and she didn't think that anyone was even remotely capable of that.

She drilled her laser stare into Harry's broad back, thinking.

Harry was a good man- er, critter, and yet here he was dancing along to the hooded man's tune. If she'd met Harry in Nozamot as a traveler passing through, she would have probably guessed that he was some lord's seneschal or vassal, or maybe even a knight. A hero of some sort for sure. None of this made any sense.

She puzzled over it as they walked.

Harry led her through the winding cobbled streets of the market village, then began to ascend up the pathway back out of the little valley. He didn't head for the keep, rather one of the mountainsides surrounding the valley.

Hermione was getting tired. Tired of walking, tired of not knowing what the hell was going on, tired of thinking (the horror!) and tired of the same stupid black rocks and scrub grass.

She had half a mind to set his cloak on fire in order to get his attention when Harry stopped, and she ran into him. There was a rather confused moment where she clutched the rough fibers of his traveling cloak while she caught her balance, and his arms slid around her to steady her. She felt her cheeks turn pink and she ducked her head, embarrassed.

Harry let go of her after a short awkward moment, and coughed.

"Well," he said, clearing his throat, "Here we are."

Hermione peered around. "And where is here, exactly?"

Harry stared at her, incredulous. "Mc- I mean, Yolande said you were a witch. She was training you."

Hermione steeled her gaze at him, sensing that she was missing something important and absolutely hating the feeling. "Yeah. And?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "We have a long way to go," he muttered, then turned his head at the rocks, "_Sirrassshhas_."

Hermione pulled away from him, eyes wide, as a door opened in the rocks in front of them. A cold dread had settled in the pit of her stomach.

He was a Parseltongue, meaning he could talk to snakes. The Snake Talkers existed only in the darkest most horrific legends, and she had never even once heard of anyone actually meeting one and living to tell about it. The thought that Harry was a Parseltongue scared her more than the hooded man ever could

. Maybe she didn't truly know Harry Potter like she thought she did. When he turned to look at her she pasted a bright smile on her face, trying to mask her fear.

It worked. He assured her into the yawning opening without a clue as to her thoughts. "Home sweet home."

She took a deep breath, and entered.

.x.

The interior of Harry's dwelling resembled nothing of the exterior. The ceiling was high and vaulted, resembling the interior of a gothic church with the ceiling forming several ribs carved out of the stone.

Despite her fear her mouth dropped open. The stonework was breathtaking and more elaborate than the cathedrals that had dotted the city where she had grown up. Wooden chandeliers dangled from the center of each of the barrel vaults and warm golden fey light sparkled in their glass holders rather than candles.

The soft glow lit up the hallways as they walked in, revealing deep red and gold carpets and ornate and detailed tapestries covering the walls. It was an amazing and alien place unlike anything she'd ever experienced, but at the same time it oddly felt like home.

"Wow," she breathed, "How exactly-"

"Magic," Harry said simply.

She frowned at him. Vampires sucked the magic out of things by drinking their blood and draining them dry, they didn't produce magic themselves.

Harry smiled slightly, as though sensing the nature of her question, a little sad. "Come, I'll show you your room, and then explain your duties."

She noticed he didn't say anything about explaining what the hell was going on.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, incredulous. "_My duties_? Seriously?"

Harry snorted. "Did you forget where you are? You are not free, and this is not a vacation."

"No, but I had still hoped for it being that you are supposed to be a gentlemen and all," she snapped.

Harry suddenly stopped and bent close to her and Hermione felt her blood chill. He dropped the glamour covering him, showing his true face. His skin took on a gray pallor and his lips pulled back revealing the jagged dagger sharp chompers in his mouth that passed for teeth. Those eyes lost their bright green; pinned by their cold snake slits she felt like a mouse about to be eaten. She couldn't move. His glasses slipped down his nose.

"I am not a gentlemen," Harry snarled, voice ragged, "And you are _not_ safe here."

"Yeah?" Hermione said belligerently, trying to mask her fear and failing. "Could have fooled me, at least until you decided to frighten girls on purpose. What are you trying to prove? That I'm scared of you? Yes then! You terrify me! Now put that face away before I kick you in the shins and run away."

Harry slumped, "I'm sorry. I just- you need to understand something. This is not a safe place and I can't protect you. There is more going on than you realize. You joke and you prod, and you need to understand that I am...different. I won't hurt you if I can help it, but you won't get that from anyone else. You are in among the monsters and they'll eat you if you mouth off to them."

"Okay," Hermione said finally, understanding finally what he meant. "I'll be more polite."

"I didn't mean to frighten you," Harry muttered, shoving his glasses back up his nose with a finger and looking downtrodden.

"You have a valid point," she told him, patting his arm. "And I understand. But if you scare me again on purpose I'll stuff garlic in your mouth and stake you so fast you'll get whiplash."

He laughed, a deep pleasant noise that warmed her right down to her toes. Hermione promptly squelched the feeling. One didn't have feelings for one's captor. That would be horrendously creepy.

"Well," Harry said after a moment's walk. "Here you are."

They'd come to a stop outside of a plain wooden door marked only by a black metal rimmed window in the shape of an ivy leaf. That stopped her a moment. Did Harry know about the ancient Witch Goddess trapped in the garden?

Hermione laid her hand on the door handle, the black metal quickly warming to the palm of her hand like a touch of a friend. She pushed the door open which swung silently on well oiled hinges to reveal a room bigger than her aunt and uncle's entire cottage.

The room was very large with cold stone floors covered with thick red rugs embroidered with rampant gold lions.

The space was dominated by a massive four poster bed that could fit several people quite comfortably. The cherry red comforter looked insanely comfortable, and if Harry hadn't been in the room Hermione would have jumped on it with a flying leap.

There was a small potbelly stove in the corner that was crafted like a sleeping dragon, black metal sides curved to look like wings. The grate at the front looked like teeth, with the fire red coals in the stove giving the impression of the dragon's molten insides.

The two walls not occupied by the bed or the doorway were covered themselves. The wall opposite her bed was literally covered floor to ceiling with books and Hermione had to force herself not to run over and see if they were properly organized. The wall across them and to the left of her bed wasn't even a wall at all, but a window.

Curiosity forced her to cross the room and peer out. She started in surprise.

"This is the other side of the mountain," she said, somewhat astonished.

Harry nodded. "The Montagnes De Nuit are riddled with caves. This one is mine. It's one of the larger ones and goes all the way through the mountain to the other side."

"We're really high up," Hermione muttered. The scenery below her looked like toys. There would be no escape from this window should she need it.

"I'll let you get settled," Harry told her, "From now on you'll be my...assistant."

"You mean slave," she growled.

"Potato, potahto."

"So what am I supposed to do?" she asked.

"Organize the library, clean, cook, run errands, and basically whatever I tell you to do," he told her.

She stared at him. "Hopefully this will not suck nearly as much as I think it will."

Harry grinned, displaying all of his sharp teeth, and left her to her surroundings.

.x.

Harry left Hermione alone and went deep into his caverns. The deeper he went the less ornate they became. The gothic architecture disappeared, and after a while the uneven stone walls began to display rough hewn druidic pictographs and symbols.

His breath puffed out in cold clouds in front of him and the magic around him thrummed. The Witch Queen's power was strong here and it made him giddy with the feel of it.

Voldemort had sucked the magic out of the Montagnes Du Nuit and defeated the Witch Goddess Hecate, but here deep within the bowels of the mountain her power was still felt.

Harry emerged into an underground cavern lit by glass fey lamps emitting pale blue ethereal light on the walls. A well of deep dark water flowed up from the cavern floor, bubbling and frothing quietly.

There was a block next to the pool. It was carved of rough stone and looked more like an alter than a table. Druidic symbols depicting sacrifice and rebirth covered its surface and it looked very, very old.

Three men sat around it, waiting for him.

"Did you do it?" one asked, his pale sallow face and hooked nose covered with decomposing green skin.

Harry nodded.

"Well then," he replied, "The spell is made. It has begun."

"If this goes wrong," one of the three said, smoothing back his platinum blond hair, "Voldemort will pull our hearts out and make idiot people pate out of them and eat it on crackers."

"That's why there is no going back," Harry said firmly, "We chose well. The three are the perfect magical requirements. They'll figure it out and the spell will be complete and Voldemort will finally be defeated."

"That's the terms of the spell though," Sirius said, leaning forward into the light, "If they don't figure it out we're stuck like this and Voldemort wins."

The man with the hook-like nose made a face at him, "That's why this cannot fail, dog breath."

"Shut up Snivelly."

Harry slapped his hands on the table, the sound echoing in the cavern. "Both of you shut up. We sacrificed too much for this. We cann_ot_ let this fail. We are the only things that stand between the rest of the world and the darkness. We fail, those witches die, and everything else dies. So stop fighting, pony up, and get along with each other."

Sirius saluted him jauntily. "Yes mother."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You sicken me."

The blond man rose sharply, "So that's it, we're done here."

They all nodded and filed out of the cavern quietly. A moment later the lights extinguished themselves, the only sound in the cavern was the pool, water murmuring like thousands of lost souls.

.x.

_To be continued..._


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